


The Way We Fall Apart

by anonarii



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bang Chan-centric, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, OT9 - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, chan deserves better, guise this is some heavy stuff, i'm a mess, i'm self projecting really badly, please send help for both me and chan, please take the tags seriously, poor baby chan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonarii/pseuds/anonarii
Summary: ""You'd tell me, though. Right?" Now Jisung is looking at him, with those intense eyes of his, taking all of him in, darting to the unnatural stillness in Chan's shoulders, to the grinding of his leader's teeth. "If you weren't okay, I mean."Chan wonders, horrified, if Jisung can see right through him, through his cotton white tee, through the lies he's been spewing all week."You'd be the first to know." Chan promises softly. If anyone were to know, it would be you.Jisung swallows thickly. Because Chan is right. And he does know.He knows all too well. "Initially, Chan can't sleep. Gradually, he falls apart. One by one, the members notice. Altogether, they heal.Trigger Warnings - Heavily focuses on anxiety, depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts.





	1. #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TAKE THE TAGS SERIOUSLY. I AM BEGGING YOU. This chapter isn't so bad but this fic WILL include both implied and explicit anxiety attacks, depression, suicidal thoughts and self harm. 
> 
> If it feels like it's jumping too quickly, it's because I really originally wrote this in scenes of mental deterioration so :') it's less of a fic and more of a "the ways Chan falls apart".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this. Oh my GOD I hate this :') Here it is, chapter 1 of my chan-centric fic :') I pROMISE I can write better things than this :') I have lots of LESS angsty ideas for SKZ that I'm really inspired to write, but ya'll know a sis gotta put the angst out first before anything else <3

**0.**

Bang Chan works hard. 

Being the leader of Stray Kids, awardee group of about eight ROTYs now, the twenty-one year old has many roles; calm, compassionate and composed leader; brilliant, unique and stylized producer; unapologetic and poetic rapper and lyricist; sweet, smooth and honest vocal; charismatic and compelling dancer; smiley and gentlemanly dream boat- 

Yeah, Bang Chan works hard. Still, with all of these things under his belt, there are a few things that Bang Chan does not do.

He does not panic. He does not settle. He does not disappoint. 

Recently, he does not sleep. 

Despite the running gag the boy has about his non existent sleep patterns, Chan's always found time to rest. His body has always reminded him of his limits when he pushed too hard, and most times he's listened, crawling out of his makeshift home studio and dozing off on a couch somewhere. 

Recently, not anymore.

He presses the heels of hands to his eyes, patterns of yellow bursting behind his vision as his head throbs. He's sitting against the mirrors in the practice room as his members get in their positions to run their newest choreo for the eighth time that morning. 

"Okay, again." he instructs, blinking back into his vision as the room blurs.

He cues the music and tries to focus on the beat bouncing off the walls as his group members come alive. He tries not to wince at the volume, fingers drilling into his knees as the track pulsates between his temples. 

It's only been 29 hours. 29 hours since Chan has rested. 

It's fine. He can do this. They only have one more day to prepare for the upcoming performance and Chan's  _feeling_  it. Jeongin falls behind the tempo and Chan calls him out on it. He picks up the pace and the elder manages a smile.

Chan does not settle.

The room tilts a second later and Chan falters, hands grasping at the wooden floors to stabilize himself. After a moment, the walls fall back into place, and he blinks hard. 

"Keep going." he calls as he exits quickly and heads to the bathroom.

The cool water feels good as he splashes it against his skin. It's not new, this sudden anxiety spike in the middle of practice. It happens when he's stressed and tired, and he knows how to handle himself. He thinks maybe he's overheating as he grips the bathroom sink and stares himself down in the mirror. He hadn't worn much make up today, and the dark imprints under his eyes are dead giveaways of his lack of rest. He looks pale, but he tells himself he's always pale. He looks tired but he always tired. He can feel the anxiety gnawing in his chest but after a few breaths, it subsides.

He does his best to hide his shaking palms as he strides back into the practice room. Eight pairs of eyes fall on him as he does. Chan does not panic.

He clenches his fists behind his back and breathes out. "Again."

 

**i.**

Initially, the way Chan falls apart is small. It's not in the form of anything but a nasty tone and a shift in the air. 

It's backstage  _some_  live show, Chan can't even remember which one at this point. He breathes deeply, eyebrows drawn tightly together as he tries to ignore the pulsating in his temples. He can hear Jeongin, Hyunjin and Seungmin chattering way too loudly. He'd asked them to keep it down a few minutes ago, but once again, they're back to their antics, a back and forth of some sort of dinosaur imitation that's  _too loud._  

"Relax." his makeup artist scolds him, tapping his pressed lips. He unfolds them obediently and she tsk's before continuing. 

Forty-one hours. It's been forty-one  _freaking_  hours since Chan has succumbed to the silk of his pillowcase and the warmth of his bed. And it  _hurts._  His head has been pounding since he "woke up" this morning, a throbbing between his temples that  _won't go away_. It's been months since he's had a migraine like this. Hyunjin shrieks and Chan winces, tilting his head sharply at the noise. The air feels thinner.

"Ah! Bang  _Chan._ " the makeup artist huffs and he gives her an irritable smile.

"Sorry, Noona it's-"

"And how about Channie-Hyung?" And then Seungmin is shoving a camera into Chan's space, the space that was already closing in, and he grits his teeth.

"What do  _you_ think about our comeback?" Seungmin waggles his eyebrows and Chan tries to smile.

"Not now, Minnie." Painkillers. He needs painkillers. 

He gets up and heads towards his bag. 

"Gaaaahhh! Jeongin squeals, a strange and wailing noise,  _right_ in Chan's  _ear_ and he jumps, feels like his brain has slammed against his skull. Hyunjin and Felix laugh at his reaction and it's not as musical and affection-drawing as Chan remembers. 

He just needs painkillers. He finds the bottle and uncaps it desperately.  _Okay, two-_

And then Seungmin's knocking into Chan, bottle clattering to the floor as his camera appears again and Chan  _just_ told him about that- "Bang Channie Hyung! Leader Bang Chan! Here he is-" 

"Seungmin, I've already asked you and the others to keep your childish game  _down_  and to stop shoving your little camera in my _face_ because  _some_ of us are actually trying to do our goddamn jobs and-"

"Yah, Bang Chan!" Woojin's voice cuts clearly through the rapper's thoughts, or  _lack_ thereof.

Chan trails off, taking a breath and looking around.

The room has gone silent. Seungmin's smile has been wiped off his face as he lowers the camera. The rest of the 2000s line, along with Jeongin are sporting dropped jaws and wide eyes, staring at the leader. Minho is no longer resting, eyes full of concern. Changbin has paused mid-bite into his apple. Woojin's eyes look like they barely recognize the leader.

Chan backtracks immediately, reaching for the younger. "Wait, Seungmin-ah-"

Seungmin stumbles back a little, switching off his device as his gaze clouds over. "Sorry, hyung. I didn't mean to..."

Seungmin's voice is so tiny and Chan's heart rate speeds up.  _No, no, no- He didn't mean it! He didn't mean to get mad he just-_

"Seungmin, it's okay. I shouldn't have-"

"Yeah..I'm gonna..charge this." The younger waves him off with a pained smile before abruptly turning and leaving the room; Chan stares after him.

Slowly, noise files into the atmosphere again. Chan can hear the  _What just happened?_  and the  _Is Chan okay?_  floating around him, and his breathing stutters. The boys avoid his gaze as they resume their activities, Jeongin and Hyunjin going after the other boy, and the other's scattering.

Chan tries to say something, to explain himself, but he can't. He didn't  _mean_  it, he just couldn't  _breathe_  and Seungmin was in the wrong place and he wants to take it back, wants to take it all back so badly-

He looks at Woojin pleadingly, but his peer just stares back puzzled eyes drifting to Chan's hands, before their manager is calling him away.

His hands are shaking. The room tilts.

"Yah, are you listening?" His manager's voice cuts through Chan's thoughts.

He looks up, away from where he had been picking at the bruise on his ankle. It burns a little; Chan tries to pinpoint every minuscule pore that is burning. It was healing up, but there's a part of the young idol that doesn't want it to stop hurting. He doesn't understand it; he doesn't try to.

He'd gotten the bruise stupidly, grazing it on the edge of a tile in the studio bathroom. Small enough to heal quickly, but large enough to be sensitive and distracting. Chan tries to pay attention to the schedule his manager is rattling off, but as he listens to the dates piling up, his mind travels back to Seungmin's fallen face, guilt washing over him in waves. His hand reaches for his ankle again, probing it. It burns, and he breathes through it.

"You got all that, Chan-ah?" His manager raises an eyebrow.

Chan exhales. "Got it."

Chan does not panic.

* * *

He goes to the studio. Their manager had suggested they perform a new song  for an upcoming show, which usually wouldn't be a problem if Chan was in a good place, mentally.

It's unfortunate, then, that he currently is not.

He can't stop thinking about how he must've hurt Seungmin. He can't stop the pounding in his head. He stares at the monitors in front of him for hours on end, feels the stirring of uncertainty in his stomach. But it's fine.

Chan does not disappoint.

He can  _do_  this.

 

**ii.**

He couldn't do it. Three days he spent, staring at his blinking monitor in the darkness, killing countless trees as papers upon papers were crumpled, smoothed and then crumbled again, all baring the same crossed out lyrics and inefficient ideas. He  _knows_  it's because he hasn't been sleeping. And it's not like he hasn't been trying. He'd pressed his spine into his mattress and plugged in the softest tracks his playlist had to offer, but all he could think about was the deadlines, and his members depending on him, and he and Seungmin have made up but he _'s_ definitely holding some kind of grudge, and the fact that his concealer is running out and the bags under his eyes make him look so sick and  _ugly,_  and so now, he thinks, just as the anti-fans preach,  _he's_   _ugly_  and-

He did produce  _something;_ he came up with a less than mediocre track that not even  _he_  likes listening to, all synth and  _noise_  and a chord progression that doesn't sit well with anyone, and the manager had pat him on the back and suggested they use one of their old songs for the show instead. Because after more than enough time, after all the effort he put in, Chan couldn't get his insomnia under wraps and do his job.

Because even after seven years, Chan's still not  _good enough._

At one point, alone in the studio at a relatively early hour to cry, Chan cries. It's not his normal kind of cry; it's silent tears and a lip bitten so hard the skin breaks. A head tipped back against the studio chair and a shuddering exhale. A pressure in his chest and an emptiness everywhere else. He's so tired.

He's so, so tired.

Back at the dorms, Chan opens the door, fighting the burning behind his eyes. Woojin's sitting cross legged in the middle of his white sheets, cotton grey shirt falling off one shoulder and eyes blinking sleepily. When he sees Chan, his face scrunches up and despite being a little tense, Woojin looks pretty and calm and Chan wants to  _cry_ because he himself is everything  _but._

"I thought you were working late tonight."

_Stupid, stupid, you mess everything up and everyone hates you, you're weak. Can't get anything done piece of-_

Chan swallows. "I was."

"I was..I was going to wait up for you that's..that's why I'm here. Changbin fell asleep watching some anime with Felix." Woojin explains softly. "I was a little worried..after um, today; but I can- I mean, you look tired so.." and now Woojin's sliding off the sheets and no,no, _no-_

Before Chan can come up with a reasonable explanation for his behaviour, he's stalking over to the singer, pushing him back down into the white. Woojin's eyes are wide as Chan crawls in next to him, gripping the other with fever.

"Ch-Chan?" Woojin chokes out as Chan curls around him, hugging the singer's head to his chest, skin cool against Woojin's warmth.

Chan's demons are echoing in his's mind, a sick symphony of disappointment and things going wrong and  _not good enough_ and-

Chan pulls him closer into his chest, eyes screwed shut and breathing labored as he tries to block it out. He presses his nose to Woojin's scalp, inhales his scent. Woojin's here, it's okay.

It's okay.

But it's not.

"Channie, are you okay? Did something um, happen at the studio?" Woojin's voice is timid, and from his place on Chan's chest, it feels likes he's speaking right against Chan's heart. Woojin can hear the rapper's worrying heart rate, and a hesitant arm slips its way to Chan's hips, fingers light against Chan's white tee.

_Everyone is depending on you, you dipshit. Why can't you just-_

Chan thinks he  _is_  crying now, can feel the tickling of warm tears on his cheeks. He only breathes Woojin in deeper.

"No Woojin-ah," Chan breathes out, voice wavering. "Nothing happened just-..is this okay?"

Chan  _knows_  Woojin must be confused, peeking through the window Chan's bent arm has created from the way it's thrown across Woojin's shoulders and threading through his hair. He knows , but he can't explain because it's so  _stupid._  And Woojin's  _warm_  and  _here_  and he just needs this right now.

"O-Oh." Woojin manages after a while of the two just breathing against each other, Chan stifling sniffles in Woojin's hair. "Yeah, it's okay. Are um..are you?"

"Hmm?" Chan hums, trying desperately to focus on Woojin's even breathing against his skin, rather than the screaming fans and the looming deadlines. As the thought slips back to the front of his mind, the leader cringes spasmodically, gripping Woojin tightly and swallowing a whimper. The other grunts, fingers tightening on Chan's skin as he searches for a more bearable position.

"Are you okay, Channie?" Woojin repeats, warm hand curling more comfortably around Chan's thin waist, and it's the most comforting thing Chan's ever felt.

"Yeah, this.." Woojin feels a shuddering intake of breath against his scalp. "This is okay now, Jinnie." Chan replies brokenly.

Woojin knows better than to remind him that that wasn't his question.

* * *

 The second time, Chan crawls into Woojin's bed, and it's right as the other is falling asleep. Somewhere in Woojin's last bit of coherence, he feels the bed dip near his thigh, hears a sniffle in the darkness.

"It's me. Move over, please."

Chan's voice is gravel in the peaceful quiet of the night, raspy and strained, with rough, short breaths punctuating each word. Ice cold toes brush against Woojin's calves under thin sheets, but he doesn't flinch, taken aback by the sudden presence of his leader in his bed at..is it 3am?

"Chan?"

"Please." And Chan's voice is so forced, like it's hard for him to even form words right now; Woojin can hear the little heavy puffs of air coming from his broken breathing. The rapper pushes into Woojin's chest, just as he did two days before, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. Woojin's heartbeat speeds up when he wraps an arm around Chan's shoulders, feels them shuddering in his hold, hears the familiar shaking intake of breath, feels the tightening of fists on his chest.

Chan is crying.

Woojin's hesitant this time too, slowly reaching to rub circles on the other's back, but that only makes Chan cry harder; gasping and stifling sobs inside of his trembling frame.

"Y-You're crying." Woojin breathes and Chan just barely nods, hair scraping the singer's throat as he tries desperately to engulf himself in the warmth of Woojin's chest.

"You're crying  _again_ , Channie."

"Please." Chan says after some time, breathing relatively steady, and Woojin doesn't say anything after that.

* * *

 After two more of these strange and worrying sessions, Woojin approaches the subject with Chan one evening, when they're alone in the dorms. Chan is in his makeshift home studio when Woojin finds him, slow blinking eyes and day three hair sitting slumped in his swivel chair.

The singer raises his hands, presenting two cups of warm coffee, and his closed eye smile. "I come bearing gifts."

"It's not really a gift if I'm the one who brewed it." Chan mumbles, but reaches out both hands to receive it, placing it next to his finished mug.

Woojin closes the door behind him and leans against the panel. There are two other seats, besides Chan's chair but both are covered in clothes and old notebooks; Chan doesn't move to clear any room and Woojin doesn't ask him to. They haven't spoken about the situation at all, so Chan must know what's coming, and there's a fog of tension settling over the room.

After a beat of quiet sipping, Woojin clears his throat. "How are you?"

Chan pauses. His eyes are locked on the rim of his cup. "I'm fine."

Woojin hums, glances up at the ceiling. Softly, gently, he speaks. "These past few weeks...have been hard."

The other boy can't find it in him to look at his friend, and settles for staring at the digital numbers at the right hand corner of his computer screen.

"Have you spoken to anyone...about what's been happening?" The air shifts as Woojin speaks, and the digits change on the screen.

"It won't happen again." Chan says quietly, like if Woojin can't hear him then the situation doesn't exist.

Woojin snaps his gaze back down to the rapper. "You didn't really answer the question."

Now it's Chan's turn of silence. He puts his mug down, fingers pressed against the ceramic.

"Channie it's okay, you can come to me, always. But this isn't like you. You've had trouble sleeping before but..it seems like whatever this is is getting really bad-"

"It's not." Chan's voice is sharp and so uncharacteristic of the smiley leader as it sears through the room. "It won't happen again."

 

**iii.**

Chan knew it was coming. He had been hoping to rest on the six hour flight into Korea, since he'd forsaken his sleep in order to make the most out of their stage days, but no such luck. He'd been wide awake for the full extent, had watched as Jeongin had taken selfies with a snoring Seungmin, had seen Felix steal one of Changbin's earphones before nestling into the older's side. He'd seen each of the eight times Jisung requested orange juice, and the one time Woojin had spilled it. He'd been a witness to the flight attendants gushing over Hyunjin and Minho too. So yeah, not one ounce of rest. After an over-packed schedule they'd promised they could handle, Chan was slouched over in his seat, head throbbing and eyes burning, learning very quickly that he could  _not_  handle.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the tour dates and the deadlines and the schedules meshing into an all consuming sheet of numbers upon numbers, and it would've been okay if he could've  _rested_ but Chan hasn't properly rested in  _weeks_  and they're already  _here_  which means he lost another opportunity because now they have to head directly to the studio-

From the moment their plane had descended, the way the seat belt light he'd been focusing on started fading in and out of vision; something was wrong. He stands, and his limbs feel like they're melting. He puts a knee back on the seat to steady himself, gripping onto the seat head.

"Somebody's still sleeping." Changbin jokes, eyes twinkling.

Chan huffs. If only that were the case.

His hands feel clammy and his head is pounding as they make their way through the air bridge to the airport.

And then the screaming starts.

Hyunjin feels it when they're quarter way through the lines of posters, tears, and overwhelming admiration, feels the soft tug on the underside of his sleeve, turns to see Chan's pale fingers digging into his shirt. Thinking he bumped into his hyung, the younger tries to slide away apologetically, but the tightening of Chan's hand stops him.

"H-Hyunjin." Chan's chin is tilted down, hair falling to shade his eyes; Hyunjin can't see his face.

However, Hyunjin  _can_  see the taut form of the elder's jaw, the sweat inching down his neck and the clenching of the fist that isn't balled up in Hyunjin's jacket. The dancer looks around confused, but it's hard to observe anything with the way the fans are screaming and the body guards are roughly ushering them along. Minho is behind Chan, smile permanent as he waves to the adoring STAYs; he doesn't seem to notice Chan's state.

Hyunjin slows his pace, much to the dismay of his body guard, and leans down subtly. "Hyung?"

" _Hyunjin_." Chan sounds  _small,_ voice squeezing out of his clenched teeth.

Chan trips over his feet a little, steadies himself in the expanse of Hyunjin's back. Hyunjin watches as Chan raises his head to his younger, eyes somehow wild and dazed at the same time, jaw locked shut. An overzealous fan jerks forward over the line and Chan inhales sharply, slamming into the dancer with a shuddering frame, staggering forward.

Hyunjin can just barely hear the short breaths the elder is forcing out, and the younger realizes startlingly that Bang Chan is  _scared._

When Chan looks at him again, his lips are quivering and his eyes are dark and darting, pleading for something Hyunjin isn't sure he possesses.Unsure, the dancer slides the elder's hand down his arm and enclasps it in his own, squeezing till Chan can't shake anymore as they power forward through the legion of screams and signs.

When they finally arrive at the private lounge area, Woojin, Seungmin and Jeongin plop down into the red leather seats, exhaling. Jisung, Minho and Changbin head to the buffet, but Hyunjin is stuck in place by the death grip Chan still has on his hand.

"Bathroom." Chan manages to choke out before turning and stumbling into the restroom.

"Oh, actually, I need to go too-"

"No you don't." Hyunjin pushes Felix back into his seat and hurries in after the elder.

Hyunjin closes the door behind him, turns and takes in the scene before him. Chan is bent over one of the sinks, knuckles white from gripping the counter so hard. He's hunched, hair falling limply in his eyes as he takes deep, shuddering breaths. The younger stands awkwardly at the door for a moment, stomach twisting with anxiety at the sight.

"Hyung, what's happening?"

"I'm..I-I'm fine." Chan promises brokenly, but Hyunjin can hear the sob edging in his tone.

"Hyung, you're scared. You're like... _shaking._ "

Chan lets out a hollow laugh, swiping at the sweat on his brow. "I-I can't feel my hands."

The leader turns to Hyunjin, eyes wide and darting. "I-I really can't feel them, Jinnie I-I'm-"

And now his breathing has picked up and Hyunjin steps forward, reaching for Chan and tugging him a little.

Chan jerks back, staggering away to rest against the tiled walls, chest heaving. "I'm..okay. I just..I just n-need a second."

_Stop being dumb, stop bothering everyone, you don't have time for this you waste of oxygen-_

Hyunjin looks around, trying not to panic. "Hyung, I don't know what's going on but you're  _scaring_  me, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do but I can't just  _leave_ you here."

"No,  _don't_." and then Chan's hands are clutching at Hyunjin again, eyes wide and wild and pleading. "Don't l-leave me here."

A second passes, Chan's eyes searching Hyunjin's, and then when he's sure the younger won't leave, he slumps against the cool walls.

"I can't- my hands." He whimpers to himself, and Hyunjin wants to cry.

Hesitantly, the younger reaches out and encases Chan's hands in his. He ducks down to catch Chan's gaze as the older opens his eyes. When he does, the main dancer hums and directs both their attention to their hands.

"I-It's okay. I can feel them for both of us, hyung." Hyunjin grins warily, and Chan's lips part as he struggles to find an even breathing pattern. Hyunjin's hands are warm, and Chan can at least feel that.

Chan's quiet for too long, staring at the thumb running along his knuckles, and Hyunjin's lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks, and the way his lips are pressed together, the way he's trying to keep  _himself_ together for Chan's sake.

Shame starts to flood into Chan's mind. What the hell is wrong with him? And he's the  _leader?_  He's supposed to be in control of the next biggest Korean BG of the decade? He can't even control his  _breathing-_

The younger forces a laugh before loosening his grip. "Sorry, that was lame- oh. Hyung.."

And Hyunjin runs a finger down Chan's palm before smiling up at him in relief. "You're not shaking anymore. And you're breathing."

Chan doesn't know how to tell Hyunjin that these days, he wishes he wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first description I had for this fic in my drafts was literally "me ruining chan and the rest of skz saving him" so essentially, that's what this is.
> 
>  
> 
> (It is also, quietly, how I ruin myself, and what I sometimes need.)


	2. #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TAKE THE TAGS SERIOUSLY. This chapter introduces more of the self-harm aspect so PLEASE take caution. Please <3 I want us all to be safe.
> 
> Also song eras and timelines don't exist in this okay I used a lyric bc i used a lyric pls ignore the inaccuracy :') love you guys tons <3

**iv.**

The panic attacks are getting worse.

He's had them before, was sure every idol had at some point, but since the airport incident, Chan's heart has not been able to rest. They don't always come the way they did that day. Sometimes they do, panic clawing its way into his lungs and leaving him gasping against the bathroom sink, but sometimes, it's blurriness and breathlessness in his recording sessions the fourth time he can't get it  _right_. It's tunnel vision and staggering steps whenever crowds close in. It's bubbling nausea and a racing heart jerking him awake from his sleep,  _if_  he even manages to get to sleep. He's been trying desperately to avoid going to Woojin, hoping to convince the other boy that he's getting better.

Undoubtedly, Chan is getting worse.

Minho finds him in the kitchen. He'd woken up early, around 4:30, in the hopes of squeezing in a morning run and maybe picking up one of those fresh street juices on the way back. His plans are cut short when he hears him.

As he inches closer to the leader, he can hear soft mumbling. He can't make out what Chan is saying, but he isn't sure Chan is saying anything at all. The words seem to sound more out of panic than literacy at this point. Minho watches as the disheveled boy staggers around the kitchen, wiping prodding absolutely nothing in particular. His lips move incoherently as he continues to stutter out nonsense.

"Hyung?"

Chan looks up, seems to still for a second as his fingers clasp and unclasp. The smile he gives the younger is so forced and pained, Minho can't help but wince back.

"What's... What are you doing?" he asks, cautiously stepping closer and standing in the doorway.

Chan has turned back to the counter, palms red as he passes them religiously over the counter tops, fingers rubbing friction against a minuscule - and most likely imaginary- spot. "I-I couldn't sleep. And the kitchen needed some cleaning so I- Well I thought I'd take ad-..take av..ad.." Chan seems to slow, staring into nothingness. He says the word in English, eyebrows furrowing as he  tries to formulate his thoughts.

"Advantage. Is what you want to say..?" Minho says softly, stepping closer as he takes in the scene of the elder boy, discomfort filing into his stomach.

"Yup that's it, that's...Yes. Did you need something?" Chan speaks breathlessly, brushing by the dancer and Minho falters; Chan's eyes are so  _hollow_ , the bags a clear indication of all the sleep he's missed out on.

"Hyung, look at me."

"Ah, it's okay, i-it's okay-"

"Hyung."

More than anything, Minho just wants Chan to _breathe_ , give him some kind of explanation as to what's happening right now. The boy is just, just freaking  _standing there_ , staring at the counter, breaths heavy. When he turns around, his hands are itching relentlessly at his forearm as his he cocks his head to the side a few times, something he does when he's anxious. 

"Your hands-" Minho starts, but then Chan is clasping his hands and groaning.

"I  _know_  but it's fine. I-I've been shaking a lot; it's probably a lack of i-iron or something. But's it's fine, Minho.  Why are you up so early?"

"Hyung, stop." Minho reaches out and Chan seems to hold his breath as Minho traces the risen welts on his arm. "You're hurting yourself."

The leader blinks a few times, head tilting sharply again before he looks up at Minho's worried gaze. His arm  _is_  beginning to burn a little, and he focuses on the lines of heat. The noise filtering through his ears quiets and he retracts his arm. "S'okay. I'm okay."

Minho opens his mouth but then Felix is walking in, drooping eyelids and hair sticking up on the right side of his head. The tension disperses and Chan slips away, avoiding Minho's heavy gaze.

He's okay, he's  _okay_ , he keeps telling himself, and ignores the burning under his skin.

 

**v.**

Minho tells Woojin, of course, at some point during the week. Chan hadn't come to Woojin about his troubles in about two weeks, and despite the slight tension he always seemed to carry, Chan had looked okay. So when Minho comes to him one night in soft tones and worry, Woojin's bobbing concern skyrockets. 

Around 1 in the morning, as he's heading to bed, Woojin takes a detour and pops his head into Chan and Changbin's room, less to say good night and more to check on the wary leader. Greeted by only Changbin's face illuminated by his screen light, and Chan's empty bed with sheets that had definitely been tossed and turned, Woojin pads into Chan's makeshift studio with a sinking feeling, closing the door softly behind him.

"Channie..?" And it's troubling, because Chan's sitting, just staring at his palms, shoulders hunched and eyes absent.

As Woojin circles around to the leader, he sees Chan's eyes are watering, and his heart breaks so deeply he feels it in his lungs. Reaching out, he wraps his arms around the leader, pulling him into his chest. Chan doesn't even blink.

He's not doing okay. He's  _not_  doing  _okay_ , and Woojin  _brushed it off_ _-_

"Please talk to me." Woojin whispers, eyes scanning the disarray of the room. Chan's desk is bare, surrounded by books, papers, clothes and a mugs all strewn to the left of it, as if Chan has just thrashed it all to the ground.

"I can't." Chan murmurs back. "I can't."

"Yes you can. You always can-" Woojin's voice trails off as he spots the bottle of sleeping pills resting tauntingly among the mess. His stomach turns uncomfortably.

Chan notices the way Woojin falters, the way he loosens his hold, and he follows the singer's gaze. When he sees what Woojin is looking at, he breathes out a bitter chuckle, wiping his eyes.

Woojin reaches for the bottle, feels the plastic of the seal still intact under his thumb and breathes out. "You bought this today?"

Chan grunts, then answers quietly. "I don't want to keep bothering you."

"Y-You-" Woojin clears his throat, swallowing the emotion he didn't realize had built up. "You wanna sleep with me? You sleep well with me, right?"

"Woojin-"

"I want to. Want- I want you to."

Chan looks up at the sincerity in Woojin's voice, eyes brimming as his fists clench, sinking a nail into his palm.He's so  _good._  Chan is an absolute mess. He doesn't deserve a friend like Woojin. He doesn't deserve any of his friends. Or his success. He hasn't produced a new song in weeks, he keeps forgetting parts of their schedule, and he can't do anything  _right_  anymore. 

He lets Woojin take him by the hand and lead him back to his room; the indent in his palm burns. 

 

* * *

 

"W-Woojin?"

"I'm here, Channie."

A beat passes as Woojin traces lazy circles over the leader's spine; the sixth time in the last two weeks. The more compliant Chan becomes is the more worried Woojin gets. Before, Woojin would find Chan hunched over in tears, hand raised shakily in front of his bedroom door, wanting to knock but too ashamed to follow through; now, Chan barely cries, just comes to Woojin with hollow eyes and guilt, no matter how many times Woojin promises it's okay. 

Every time, Chan looks worse than the last. Every time, Woojin  _hurts._

" _Woojin_."

"I'm here."

The words diffuse in the cold air and Woojin's hand slows to a soft rest. Chan tenses.

"Woojin-"

"Chan."

"..."

"I'm here."

 

**vi.**

"Hyung, what are those?" Chan freezes,  _knows_  what Changbin is talking about before he even looks up. His instinct tells him to hide it, yank his sleeves down, fold his hands in his lap,  _anything_ , but he hasn't done anything wrong, he tells himself.

Hiding it makes it look like he did something wrong.

So he sits still, trying not to clench his fists as the younger reaches a hand out across the table and runs a finger over Chan's knuckles. There are tiny scabs, littering his skin, from where he'd bitten into himself, or scratched himself raw. It hadn't been on purpose, he'd just needed something to  _ground_  himself. A part of Chan wishes the other would press down, sink a nail into the scabs,  _hurt_  him. Hurt him the way he knows he's hurting everyone else; the way he knows Changbin would hurt if he knew the truth.

"I don't know." Chan says quietly, and simply, and semidetached.

It stirs something sour in Changbin's gut, but he can't quite place it. "You...You don't know?"

"It's probably from practice or something, Binnie. You know I'm always hitting something." And now Chan's nervous, because Changbin isn't looking at anything but his hands and he can't believe Chan's lies unless he's looking at the older rapper's convincing,  _not lying_  face. He clears his throat in an attempt to get Changbin to look at him, to stop staring at his stupid, ugly hands- but to no avail.

Changbin ignores it, reaches over again to examine the older's hands.

Chan pulls back.

Changbin's heart sinks and he doesn't know why. "Hyung?"

"I need to shower."

"Okay, but wait a sec-"

Chan is already walking away, fists clenched to hide his shaking. He hopes his voice doesn't give him away. "I really need to shower. I'm disgusting, Binnie."

Changbin's lips part in surprise, because he knows Chan means it too.

 

* * *

 

The first time Chan consciously and purposefully hurts himself, he swears to never do it again. 

He feels like the air has been punched out of him, frozen as he struggles to process what he had just done.

Chan wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. They'd been on the way home from a photo-shoot when Hyunjin's alarmed tone drew Chan out of his all consuming thoughts. He turns in his seat to find Jeongin hurriedly trying to wipe away tears and Hyunjin staring helplessly at his younger friend. Through gentle probing and a lot of hair petting, Jeongin had confessed that he had been struggling with a lot of insecurity since he'd removed his braces, and that the photo-shoot today had been a little more stressful than he'd expected.

Chan thinks he might've spewed some sort of acceptable, leader-esque encouragement, forcing the hypocrisy through his teeth, but all he really remembers is the guilt flooding into his limbs. How could he not have noticed what a hard time Jeongin was going through? He had been so caught up in his own problems, problems that weren't even  _real_  problems, or warranted problems, just Chan being self consumed, and a poor leader  _again-_

He'd been panicked and  _angry_  and he'd been pressing into the bruises in his skin, the purple indents in his palms, trying to breathe through the pain the way he's learned to do; but it hadn't been  _enough_ , and his lungs were still closing in and he couldn't  _feel_  it, couldn't feel anything but the bursting panic coursing through him like an electrical charge just a few volts  _too high._  He had stumbled into the bathroom, whimpering, grasping at the counter space. His fingers had brushed against a pin; one of the boys had probably left it there while trying on the stage outfits that their stylists had brought over the night before. 

He blinks slowly, eyes coming back into focus as he stares at the tiny red beads forming on his forearm. A slight tinge burns under his skin, outlining the cut in his mind, despite not being able to see it. He watches as the beads grow, feels the hot sting spread to the outer regions of the mark, feels his fingers tremble around the pin.

Then he breathes out, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, shuddering and heavy. 

Okay.

Chan doesn't hurt himself again until two weeks later.

He doesn't like it. He hates it. But there's something about the push and pull of self inflicted pain that helps Chan find control again. Every time he feels the anxiety rising up his throat, he sinks his fingers into his hips until the pain blurs the panic. When he releases, he breathes, and feels the tumultuous emotions leave him in waves.

This is how he gets through the day. This is how he learns to breathe.

It's a Sunday morning, a late breakfast, when he messes up. The panic had been swirling under the surface since the previous night; he'd just finished writing a new song, a raw and honest ballad with a gritty rap and feeling behind every word. He was going to attempt to run it by Jisung and Changbin, but the voices in his head and plagued him throughout the night. 

_It's no good. No one wants to hear about your made up issues. It all sounds the same. You're still not good enough. You'll never be good enough. You'll never be good enough._

The dimpled boy dips his finger into the freshly brewed tea, feels the heat bite into his fingertips and climb up the length of his pinky, but he leaves it there. It doesn't hurt that much anyway, but Chan can  _feel_  it. He dips another finger in, feels the heat leave a prickling sensation slinking up the pads of that finger. The longer he leaves them in is the more Chan can feel the heat like a collection of pins and needles, a pinching pulse throbbing under his skin, and it's a little uncomfortable, but it's enough to warm the deadening cold inside Chan's chest, enough to force the vomit back down his throat. He pushes the rest of his fingers in, and the heat leaps up his hand as if setting fire to the creases in his palm, and it feels like the liquid is clinging to his skin, sliding over his knuckles with nips of hotness. And okay, it hurts a little, but it's fine. It's  _something_. Chan lets out a shaky breath as he stares at his hand. He's trembling a little, but he doesn't  _want_  to pull away-

"Hyung, what...are you..doing..?" and Chan looks up to find Seungmin staring inquisitively at the elder's hand.

The hand that's shoved into his half full mug of tea.

Slowly, Chan retracts his arm, dripping and cold against the contrasting temperatures of the room and the beverage. "The sugar...didn't..dissolve. In my tea."

Seungmin stares at the light haired boy for a while, lips parting slightly. "Oh."

Chan exhales.

"So..?" When Chan looks up again, Seungmin is still staring at his hand. "Did you want a spoon or.."

Chan wants Seungmin to go  _away_. He quickly scrambles for the spoon a little way away from him on the table. Forcing a cute closed eye smile, ignoring the biting sensation in his hand.

"Got one right here, Minnie." He says sweetly.

Seungmin blinks. "Then why didn't you use it, hyung?"

Chan opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to follow the broken conversation. He glances down at his hand, sees it's an unnatural reddish colour, and there's a few risen bumps on his knuckles.

"I-It's dirty."

"For Christ's- Chan hyung." Seungmin's voice gets a little softer, a little concerned, a little too  _muc_ h for Chan's liking.

Seungmin makes a move towards Chan and he shoots up, knee hitting the edge of the table with a clatter. "I was just finishing up."

"No, hyung-"

And then Seungmin's coiling firm fingers around Chan's forearm and Chan kicks the air out of his gut as he gasps in pain, loudly and obviously

He doesn't move, because moving,  _running,_  means he did something wrong. He didn't do anything wrong.

Still, Seungmin immediately releases him, a knee jerk reaction, mouth parting in shock and confusion.

Chan's dizzy with the pain searing under his sleeve, gritting his teeth through the burn.

"I have a lot to do today, Minnie. W-we'll talk soon, okay?"

Chan doesn't wait for an answer. Seungmin doesn't have one anyway.

 

**vii.**

Chan clenches his left fist, presses his right fingers into the tiny incisions on the knuckles, lined up neatly on his pallid skin. It sends a painful buzz coursing under his skin and he desperately tries to focus on it.

 _Breathe in_. Press down.

Release.  _Breathe out_.

"In his boiling hot  _te_ a, Sung. It's-"

"Seungmin, Chan is weird as hell. It's never bothered you before, has it? Why is it bothering you now?"

 _Breathe in_. Press down.

Release.  _Breathe out_.

"He  _is_ acting a little off. He's barely around." Changbin's voice chimes in, uncertain and quiet.

"He's busy. Did you forget he's the leader of arguably the next biggest K-pop group of the decade?" Jisung sounds irritated now. Chan has made Jisung  _irritated_  now.

 _Breathe in_. Press down.

Release.  _Breathe out_.

"Can you switch off the defensive best friend mode for a second and be honest? You haven't noticed anything? At all?"

Seungmin's insistent, persistent, and really too goddamn  _nos_ y in Chan's eyes at the moment. The elder rests his head against the tiles of the bathroom, curling his fingers and sinking a nail into the flesh. He'd left the bathroom door slightly cracked, just enough to hear the conversation of the three boys in the bedroom only a door down.

Jisung huffs."He's just stressed-"

"So you  _have_  noticed." Seungmin sounds smug, relieved, and concerned all at once.

Chan can  _hear_  Jisung rolling his eyes. "He's been a little quiet. Isn't he allowed to be sometimes?"

The older boy's heart turns uncomfortably as Jisung defends him, guilt seeping into his skull. He digs his fingers into his palm, focuses on one finger at a time as he leaves biting indents on the skin.

"I'm not saying that I just-...Dude, I have a really bad feeling. Earlier..." Seungmin's voice lowers significantly. There's some shuffling, and a door closes.

 _Breathe in_. Press down.

Press harder. _Bruise._

 _Breathe_ _out_.

 

* * *

 

He shows Jisung the song, at least, what he has so far.

He had tried to make it as general as possible, but listening to it, he can hear the brokenness reigning through the recording, and the way lyrics are far more honest than he had intended them to be. 

When it's done, Jisung looks up at his best friend, eyes flickering with something Chan can't really place.

His heart deflates a little, because he  _knows_  it isn't good but he couldn't think of anything else, could only write about what he was feeling and he was feeling so  _shit_  so he guesses he really just produced _shit_ -

"Hyung, this is... really good." Jisung says quietly and Chan quirks an eyebrow.

If it's good, why is Jisung frowning like that?

"You don't have to lie-"

"I'm not lying. This is one of the best things you've ever written."

Chan's cheeks feel warm. It's the first warmth he's felt all day.

He looks back at his keypad. "It's just a verse and chorus." 

Both boys are quiet for a beat.

Jisung breaks the silence. "Hyung?"

Chan's fingers instantly tighten on the flesh of his thighs. He relaxes them slowly, hopes Jisung didn't notice the jerk. "Mm?"

"You okay? Lately?" Jisung doesn't look up from the laptop but his hands are still, and his voice sounds unsure.

Jisung noticed the jerk.

"I've been a little tired. But I'm good." Chan wants to ask why Jisung is asking, but more than that, he wants this conversation to end, so he seals his lips and runs a thumb down the top of his thighs. The denim rubs against the cut hidden there, stinging him momentarily. He inhales sharply, holding the air in his lungs.

Breathe out.

"You'd tell me, though. Right?" Now Jisung is looking at him, with those intense eyes of his, taking all of him in, darting to the unnatural stillness in Chan's shoulders, to the grinding of his leader's teeth. "If you weren't okay, I mean."

Chan wonders, horrified, if Jisung can see right through him, through his cotton white tee, through the lies he's been spewing all week.

"You'd be the first to know." Chan promises softly.  _If anyone were to know, it would be you_ _._

Jisung's eyes flicker to Chan's thumb, digging into his jeans, and he swallows thickly.

Because Chan is right. And he does know. He knows all too well. 

When Chan leaves him, he plays the song over, listens to the honesty in his best friend's voice.

_I've been thinking 'bout my life._

_Is it better if I die?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember what it was like to post fanfiction but i don't remember it being this anxiety inducing omg :') anyways I just needed to get this out there.  
> Side question, would you guys be more interested in a Hyunsung, Changlix or Minsung fic? Hope you're all taking care of yourselves xx


	3. #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okie here's the next chapter of this fic. It's moving a little quickly but we still have some ways to go so bear with me <33 Hope everyone is reading the tags and staying safe. This feels lowkey like a filler, but this whole fic is kind of just fillers lmao idk. I have an end vision i promiseee

**viii.**

Panic turns to emptiness after a month.

Stray Kids charm the K-pop industry off its feet. They are in higher demand in their first year of debut than some groups have been in their entire career life. Fans flock to them, completely enamored by the way the boys tackle issues like mental health and the system. 

Chan tries to pinpoint what really went wrong.

As he sits in front seat of the van, jiggling his leg as he watches cars go by, he thinks it's really his fault. He expected Stray Kids to blow up; there was no way that amount of heart, soul and dedication could go unnoticed in an industry like theirs. But he hadn't expected it to be this  _much._ Hadn't expected to reach so many hearts in so little time; hadn't prepared himself for the consequences of being a light in the darkness for others.

Chan is a candle, burning out, consuming himself in flames in order to help his fans and lead his members.

He could say no. He could tell the variety shows that their schedule isn't that flexible, could tell their managers that they needed more time to rest, could tell JYP that they'd produced four albums and they're creatively dry at the moment. But Chan's brain was never wired like that; he never thought about what he couldn't do, just thinks about what he  _could._ If he just  _pushed_ a little more. If he just spent  _one more_ all nighter. If he skipped  _just one_ meal. If he kept quiet just  _one more month._

He knows he should tell them. The way the deadlines, the anxiety, the pressure, the way it's crushing him, weighing down on his chest until he's gasping in the darkness of his room.  _God,_  he really wants to tell them. But he  _can't._  He's the  _leader_. If he falls apart, who's going to pick up the pieces? How could he ask them to pick up his pieces? Why is he even _in_ pieces in the first place? Chan's had seven years to learn how  to keep himself together. Everyone else had their issues too. Why couldn't he just  _deal_  with it? It's in his head, he tells himself. It's all in his head.

The thoughts grow more prominent as the weeks drag on.

On a day off, they film a day of relaxation at the beach. They try to see how long they can each hold their breath.

Chan finds himself wondering how long it takes to drown.

They move into a new dorm; Hyunjin and Felix skip steps in excitement as they bound up the staircase.

Chan finds himself wondering how he could throw himself down them and make it look like an accident.

He's still writing well. Stray Kids' concepts have always tackled darker and taboo topics, so Chan writes well. It's almost therapeutic, writing about all the demons in his head. He writes to his members, and his parents, tells them everything he wishes he really could - the intruding thoughts, the panic attacks, the worthlessness- and then covers it up with a general chorus and a beautifully mixed accompaniment track.

But he writes alone. Helps Jisung and Changbin when he can, but initially, always, he writes alone.

And the boys have all noticed it.

He's in the lunchroom waiting for the others, his "organic goodness" lunch sitting limply on his plate, when Jeongin asks him about it in a tiny voice. "Hyung, hypothetically speaking, if...if you thought your friend was sick, or something, but you didn't know..you don't know how to help them, what would..I mean, what do you do?"

Chan's head is flopped down on his arms, eyelids pressing into the lint ridden sleeves of his hoodie. These days, he struggles through his meals, every bite tasting like the bile that's constantly rising up his throat. He doesn't want to eat. He just wants to  _sleep._  He buries his face further into the crook his folded arms have created, fingers drilling into the sweater paws. "What are you really asking me, Innie?" his voice is muffled, but Jeongin sits up.

"I-I'm asking," Jeongin touches Chan's sleeve so lightly, so delicately and carefully that Chan has to raise his head.

He's got one of his smiles on, the ones he tries to keep on for everyone else's sake, but Chan knows better than that, knows  _him_  better than that.

"I'm asking," and the younger lowers his voice, avoids the leader's eyes,"Hypothetically, if you..weren't okay. I-I know I'm the youngest but I um..what could I- what would you want me to do? To help you?"

Chan quirks an eyebrow; Jeongin coughs. "Hypothetically, hyung."

And maybe Chan's bloodstream fills up with one part affection and two parts shame, or something else ugly and guilty.

"Jeongin-ah, are you worried about hyung?" he plasters on a smile, reaching out to ruffle the younger's hair. The action itself exhausts him, and he has to lean against the table for a second. "Hyung is fine, okay? All you need to do for me is work hard, and do your best, always. And stop worrying so much. You'll get wrinkles like a caterpillar."

He doesn't sleep well at all anymore, even with Woojin, but he pretends for the other boy's sake. He buries his face in the warmth of Woojin's chest, slows his breathing and thinks about not breathing at all. When he thinks Woojin is sleeping, he cries.

When he  _does_  manage to doze off, Woojin wipes the tears from his flushed cheeks.

"I want you to talk to someone." Woojin says cautiously one night, after finding the familiar bottle of sleeping pills on Chan's dressing table; the seal is broken now.

The ghostly looking boy just grunts, turning his back to Woojin and crumpling the pillow case in his fingers. A warm arm reaches over him, presses into the expanse of his stomach and pulls him back into Woojin's chest.

Chan blinks away the tears that are already forming, fist clenching.  _He_   _can't_.

Chan waited seven years. Seven  _years_  to debut. He'd watched his friends start from nowhere, he'd watch them grow, improve, debut. He'd watched the world move on without him, tell him they were fine  _without_  him, as he'd stayed stuck in the same place, being told the same things for seven years. After  _seven years_  of hard work and patience and tears and  _hatred_ , he had finally debuted. He can't afford to mess it up now because of his dumb emotions and inability to function under pressure. It's only been a month of this,  _whatever_  it was. He can still handle it. He will handle it.

Woojin speaks into his shoulder, voice rumbling against Chan's frame. "You need-" and then a hand is slipping into his own, preventing him from clawing into his palm. "-to talk to someone, Channie. Before something happens..."

Chan wants to laugh at that. He reaches a hand down and tugs down his t-shirt, ensuring that the marks on his hips are covered. "Nothing's going to happen, Woojinnie."

 

**ix.**

Felix knows something is wrong the minute he walks in the practice door.

Chan's pale, but today he's almost blue, leaning against the mirror with glazed eyes and chapped lips. He's wearing basketball shorts and an over-sized tee with a thermal underneath. His knees are swollen and red.

"Oi, Felix." he smiles weakly, eyes seeming to bounce around before focusing on the younger. "What are you doing here?"

The younger walks over to the counter top at the back of the studio and picks up his phone, eyes never leaving the panting leader. "I forgot my phone. Never mind, why aren't you at the dorms? The awards ceremony is in a few hours." and it might be in Felix's mind but is Chan swaying?

"I just needed to run the choreo.. I-I just-" and then Chan's wobbling to the left, and then falling to one knee, and then Felix is at his side. 

Chan's ears tinge red as he tries to push himself up. His legs give out again, and he's kneeling, hands braced against the laminated floors to break his fall.

Felix's concern only grows. "Hyung?"

Chan's face burns as he tries a third time, sweating as he tries to get his body to  _listen_  to him, but his left leg won't cooperate. His muscles feel like rubber, vibrating under the skin so vigorously, Chan can almost see it. 

"I-I'm okay. My..foot. Fell asleep, I think." he breathes out an empty laugh as fear starts dripping into his mind. He can't move his leg. He really  _can't-_

"Bullshit. Are you injured? Why aren't you moving your leg?"

_Because I can't._

"I told you, it's asleep." He breathes out, sweat inching down his neck as he uses all his strength to fold the leg underneath him, extending it in front of him and sitting back, breathing hard. Even Felix can see it's trembling.

"Oh jeez, um- okay." Felix stands up, carding a hand through his hair before turning to go. "Minho's outside; I-I'll ask him what to do. He knows more about this kind-"

Chan's eyes widen in alarm, before darting out to grab the younger. "No, Felix you can't. Don't. Please."

Felix pauses. Chan's vision whirls.

"I..what?"

"Don't tell him. Don't tell anyone _please_..please."

"Hyung, don't..don't ask me to do that. I-I have to-"

"You know it'll only stress everyone out. Look, it's-" And with all the strength he can muster, he grits his teeth and drags his leg into a bent position, the muscle tingling uncomfortably as he does so.

His throat burns as he tries to keep from breathing too loudly, pushing off on his right leg as he stands up. "It's fine."

Felix bites his lip, fingers clenching before he turns. "Hyung, you said it yourself, we don't keep secrets. We take care of our health first."

Chan hates himself. He's so  _weak_ , he couldn't even hold himself together long enough for Felix to grab his phone. He's so, so weak. "Felix, we have a show tonight. You can tell them afterwards. Hell,  _I'll_  tell them myself, but  _afterwards."_

The younger Australian still looks uncomfortable, and Chan fights the burning in his limbs and pushes Felix to the door. "Go home a-and get ready. I'll finish up here and meet you in a few."

The effort it takes to try and walk normally has Chan seeing stars when they get to the hallway. Minho is there, something flickering in his eyes at the leader's presence. Chan sends him a forced smile before directing his attention back to Felix.

"It was a one time thing." he speaks in English now so Minho doesn't pick up on the low and pleading voice.

"Hyung..." Felix stares warily at the elder, watches as Chan shifts from foot to foot, bending slightly as if he's catching his breath. He can see the rapper's fingers gripping the door, trembling; can see the hollow expression in his eyes. He hears the way Chan winces when he straightens back up.

Chan gives him one of his closed eyed smiles.

"I'm okay, Lix."

He is obviously not.

 

**x.**

****The way Chan falls apart is quiet.

He doesn't cry out or scream. Their category is announced. Their name is called. The audience explodes. Light bursts behind Chan's eyes as he trudges sluggishly between his group members onto the stage. He has to bow to every fellow idol and fan, and it's fine, except every time he brings his head back up, the room warps out of place for a moment.

"Hyung, give me the mic." Minho whispers as they approach centre stage.

It's so  _bright_ , lights showering them as the audience shrieks in adoration. Chan tries to find an area of minimal activity to look at, but everything is so  _vivid_. "Wh-What?"

"You're shaking. Give me the mic." Minho speaks through gritted teeth as he smiles and waves.

Minho is so kept together. Chan is going to pass out. Black has started spotting his vision and as he turns his head, he feels likes his eyes are lenses, and someone keeps pressing into them with a thumb, blocking out a fan here, and then Minho's face as he shakily hands him the mic. He thinks of the meals he had missed today, the lack of rest- did he drink water at all today? His mouth is dry as he leans against Hyunjin. 

Just a few more moments. He focuses hard on staying upright, nodding when he sees everyone else nodding, smiling when the cheers increase as Minho speaks. Hyunjin and Felix's eyes keep flitting over his face, but he stays focused on the mic in Minho's hand, grasping his own hands behind his back until they turn white. They bow one last time before they're exiting the stage.

His jaw is aching from smiling too hard. Just a few more moments.

The room is tilting. It feels like slow motion, the noise simmering into a piercing tone.  

_Hyunjin,_ he wants to say, but he can't find his voice. The last thing he sees as he steps off the stage is Hyunjin's concerned expression, and then like a circuit blowing, Chan's vision goes out; he can't  _see_  anything. His heart rate picks up and he tries to whip his head around but it's so  _dark_ , and the air has disappeared too and Chan feels like he's in a vacuum, like his very being is being sucked into nothingness. He tries to reach out with his hands but he can't  _feel_ his  _hands_  and-

The noise filters back in like a shot gun, sharp and louder than he's ever heard it. The audience is screaming and he staggers back, into a pair of arms which lock onto him and push him through a pair of doors. He can't see which way he's going, can't really feel anything but the pounding of his heart and the rising of bile at the back of his throat.

"B-ath..room-" he gasps, and he and his captor take a hard right, and then there's white light flooding into his vision and it makes him feel even  _sicker_ -

Chan's knees hit the tiles  _hard_ , rattling his bones as he heaves forward and retches into the toilet bowl. His head is swimming as he chokes, dry-heaving and shaking helplessly through the motions. Then he feels cool fingers against his forehead as Minho cards through his hair, another hand rubbing his back soothingly.

When he's finished retching, Minho helps him shrug off his jacket, begins unbuttoning his shirt without a second thought, which would be  _fine_  except his hips are  _really_  messed up-

Through his panic, Chan manages to halt Minho's actions. The same emotion from before flickers in the younger dancer's eyes, but then Chan is falling into a fit of coughs, rough raw hacking that sounds  _painful_ , and Minho nudges away Chan's weak hold, pulling the leader's shirt out from the tuck in his trousers. He bunches the shirt up to the leader's ribs and feels his breath catch in his throat as he exposes Chan's waist.

The pallid, white skin is covered in red, purple, blue and black crescent moons, some welting and some scabbed. Minho blinks rapidly, turning to face Woojin who stood, mouth hanging open in the doorway.

He knew Chan had been self-destructing, but he didn't know it could look like this.

"I'm sorry." Chan whimpers as his head falls back against the tiled walls.

Minho swallows hard, before forcing a nonchalant tsk-ing noise, eyes avoiding the older. "Ah, Chan-hyung... What'd you go and do, hm?" He hopes Chan can't hear the way his voice breaks.

Chan says something in English, something Minho wouldn't have heard even if it was in Korean, and the leader misses the heavy gaze Minho sends to Woojin over his head. 

"You're going to get some help, okay?" Minho says firmly, but his voice shakes.

"I-I'm sorry-"

" _Okay?"_ Minho stresses, eyes unmoving.

Chan closes his eyes and pushes himself into the coolness of Minho's hand.

"Okay." He breathes, cheeks wet with tears. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying really hard to distribute scenes between all the members but omg it's so MUCH of them :') Let me know if you feel like somebody's not getting any "screen time" haha
> 
> The next few chapters may be the biggest oofs haha :') okay love you guys thanks for reading please take care of yourselves talk soon xx


	4. #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update wheeee :') this is really choppy lol and these two chapters are wow.. IT WILL GET BRIGHTER I SWEAR JUST  
> Tbvh, this entire fic is just skz cuddling constantly in angst i-  
> But anyways here it is! Also there really isn't a pattern or anything to the roman numerals, I just needed a way to separate all the scenes since they're connected but not really? The fic is pretty much just snapshots of Chan's struggles. I guess..I'll stop now <3 Enjoy!

**xi.**

"He's underweight." Dr. Kang tells them, sighing. They're familiar with the older, silver-haired man, who'd been doing their check ups and emergency calls for the last four years.

"Okay, but most idols are technically underweight-" Changbin starts defensively, trying to abate the worry in his chest.

"Yes, I know; I am an  _idol doctor_." Dr. Kang narrows his eyes before softening. "So if  _I_  feel the need to tell you he's underweight..."

Hyunjn stares at Chan through the one-way glass of the conference room, sitting timidly in the lounge. From his angle, he can see Chan's side profile, see the curve of his nose and the brush of his lashes. He's sitting humbly, both legs planted on the floor and hands folded neatly between his thighs. His damp hair curls over as he stares at the floor. He looks  _small._

Hyunjin feels guilty. Stray Kids, save for Chan, and their manager, are standing inside the conference room discussing their leader's mental health, or rather, lack thereof, while he sits defeated in the other room.

Hyunjin feels guilty. He listens as Dr. Kang explains the anxiety, the attacks, the worst case scenarios, the risks, and all the reasons they  _need_  to take a rest break right now. He listens as the manager rattles off his deadlines, the plans, the pending events, and all the reasons they  _can't_  take a rest break right now. He listens as Changbin and Seungmin grumble about the lack of sensitivity. He listens to Felix's and Jeongin's little gasps and hums. He stops listening when Chan's self destructive tendencies come up, his stomach twisting with shock and discomfort.

In hindsight, perhaps this was the first step in the wrong direction.

Segregating their leader and talking about him behind a one way glass like he's a showcase display.

Hyunjin and the others  _want_  Chan to get better.

The company reminds them that they  _need_ it.

"The kind of damage that someone in this kind of panicked state can do to themselves can be extreme. You  _cannot_  let him out of your sight." The older man stresses. 

Jisung gulps. Hyunjin thinks he's full of shit, but he whips around anyway, checking for the leader.

In hindsight, they really should've known better.

 

* * *

 

They try to help him in all the wrong ways.

It could be because they're still relatively young, still trying to understand  _themselves_. The fact that Chan, the foundation of their entire dream, was falling apart; it's enough to knock them all off track.

The company doesn't really reduce pressure either, just shoves ways to cope with it down Chan's throat. He gets prescription pills now, the  _real_  stuff. A woman whose analytical eyes peer over her glasses at Chan for one hour twice a week. A stern talking to behind a soft, sympathetic smile. A band aid on a gaping wound.

They try to help him in all the wrong ways.

"Off." Minho mutters, eyes avoiding the older as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Chan looks at him confusedly, and he looks so small in his washed out white tee and Iron Man boxers, and Minho thinks it's so  _unfair._ That someone as deserving and selfless as Chan has to live life the way that he does, constantly betrayed by his own thoughts.

"Your shirt." He clears his throat, eyes lowering in the deepest of apologies, voice lowering in reluctance. "We have to..check."

Chan almost chokes. The way Woojin was leaning against the door frame looks a lot less like a comforting presence and more like a prison guard at his post now. "Y-You're not serious."

Minho doesn't answer.

Humiliation floods into the older boy's stomach, heart plummeting to his feet. His fingers curve into his thigh like muscle memory as he glances at Woojin, eyes pleading. "Please."

Woojin drops his gaze. "It'll only be a minute, Channie."

And so with prickling eyes, Chan peels off his shirt, tries his best to block out his radical thoughts and  _pain_  and Woojin's stuttered breath of "Christ..".

He's  _ugly._  He's so, so ugly.

After what feels like years, Minho nods, and Chan puts back on his shirt.

To Woojin's surprise, Chan doesn't cry. When they crawl into bed, barely touching, Chan faced away and Woojin staring at the ceiling, Chan doesn't cry. He still stays with Woojin at night, or any other member, but he doesn't cry, not really. They have checks twice a week, and each time, Chan doesn't cry. Most times, they don't find any new marks. Sometimes, they do. The lead vocal doesn't push, doesn't reach for the other boy at all if Chan doesn't initiate it.

One night, though, a night where they  _do_  find new marks, Chan curls into Woojin's chest with fists for hands and hole where his heart is. Because he let them down.

Because he let them down  _again_.

The other boy, already in pain from the earlier discovery, welcomes the hesitant touch of his best friend. Chan feels a breath against his scalp, feels Woojin shift unnaturally, recognizes that for the first time in a long time, in front of the leader, Woojin is crying. Crying for  _him._

"We just want you to get better." He mumbles.

Chan only feels worse.

 

**xii.**

Jeongin does his best to tiptoe around the older boy. There's a fondness in his heart as Chan sleeps peacefully on the living room floor under the blankets and pillows they'd laid out the night before. It's about 5 in the afternoon, golden hours filtering sunlight through the blinds and feathering against Chan's pale skin. The younger boy knows he's only sleeping so well because of the round white tablets that are fixed in the cabinet now. Still, as the company reminds him, Chan may be sleeping forcefully, but at least he's sleeping. That's all that matters, right?

Just as he's making his way to his room, his eyes catch on the strip of skin above Chan's waistband, his shirt ridden up, with no concern for either boy. Jeongin freezes. Something lodges in the maknae's throat, something ugly and cold and painful.

There are  _marks_. On Chan's waist.

Jeongin feels stuck, paralysed, staring at the older boy's exposed skin, but he can't look away. He'd known Chan was sick, was  _hurting_ , but he hadn't seen it for himself like Woojin and Minho had. Just above the waist band, Jeongin follows the thin crescents scattered across the elder's skin; he watches them stretch and crinkle with each breath Chan takes.

Jeongin's mouth is dry. The indents climb up his waist, most of them blue or black, on either side of the pale torso. He almost feels intrusive, the way he's  seeing something he was definitely never supposed to see.

The maknae imagines the older sinking his fingers into himself, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out. His stomach rolls with anxiety as he thinks about the emotional pain the older must've been in, so much so that he would rather willingly bleed than deal with the storm within him.

Chan was hurting himself.

Chan was  _hurting himself._

His throat hurts from holding back his tears, and he sinks onto the sheets, crawling into the white-haired boy's arms. He shimmies closer and closer until he's practically breathing in the cotton of the others shirt.

Reaching delicately across, he pulls the shirt down over Chan's waist, then wraps the arm around him tightly.

"Innie?" Chan murmurs, voice laced with sleep and peace and Jeongin is so  _sorry_ ; sorry that the only thing that could get Chan there anymore is a little white pill.

"M'tired too." the younger mumbles back, and Chan, too drowsy to even question the younger, throws a hand over his shoulders, and lets Jeongin breathe him in.

 

* * *

 

Jeongin doesn't know why he does it. Maybe it's because he's the youngest, and also the most impressionable member. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Chan's bruised skin, and the way he had suffered. He stood in the bedroom's mirror, staring at his bare torso.

His mind flashes back to the way the leader's scabs had looked against the white of his skin, and his stomach curls. It must've hurt. It must've hurt so  _badly._ But there had been so much.

Jeongin reaches up, places his hands warm against his hips, fingers splayed out as he stares at his reflection.

He doesn't know why he does it.

But then he's sinking his nails into his skin, as hard as he can. His eyes prick with tears as he digs into his flesh, breath catching in his lungs. He releases a few moments later, letting out the shaky breath. He blinks a few times, feels the burn behind his eyelids.

There are slight indents, but Chan had been  _bruised,_ means Chan had held it, gripped himself until his flesh had broken. Jeongin feels like crying as he reaches for his skin again, grazing under his waist band as he presses in, breath stuttering-

"Have you seen my charg- Innie?" Hyunjin kicks open the bedroom door just in time to see Jeongin clawing into his stomach, eyes watering.

Jeongin's mouth opens in a silent shriek as he drops his hands, heart racing.

But Hyunjin's phone is already clattering to the floor and he's stalking over to the younger, gaze clouding over as he zeroes in on the indents on the milky skin of Jeongin's torso.

"I'm not- Hyung, it's okay." Jeongin starts shakily but then Hyunjin's eyes are all over his face, flaming.

"Are you stupid?" Hyunjin chokes out, his face flushing with anger.

"Woah, what's going on?" And then Woojin is entering the room, towel drying his hair and Jeongin wants to  _die_.

"Tell him. Tell him what you were  _doing._ " Hyunjin is so  _angry_  and Jeongin keeps whipping his head between the two boys, and he's still shirtless for God's sake-

"I-I just wanted to know  _why_ -"

"And a simple question couldn't have satisfied you? A-Are you stupid?" And now Hyunjin's voice has gone a little high, a little scratchy, a way Woojin's only heard a few times before.

"I wasn't trying to..I just wanted.." and Jeongin's breathing hard now, hands clenched at his sides because he wasn't trying to make Hyunjin mad, but he's so mad, and his sides are  _throbbing_ , and the air seems really thin right now and he just wants Chan to be  _okay._

"Hyunjin, go outside. Jeongin, put a shirt on-"

" _No._  Hyung's out there  _suffering_ , and you're gonna go around trying out the same thing that's destroying him? Because you just  _wanted to know?_  Are-

"Hyunjin,  _now."_

Hyunjin blinks at the older boys before shaking his head and trudging past them. A door slams, and Jeongin sinks to the floor, letting his tears fall. 

Woojin exhales shakily, jaw tense. He reaches to close the door and catches sight of Chan in the hallway, eyes red with sleep and mouth slightly open as he stares at the now slammed bedroom door. He looks so out of it, so unsure. Woojin wants to know how things fell apart so quickly.

He grunts, and Chan turns to him. Their eyes meet and the singer offers a gentle tone. "Channie, it's fine. I'm handling it. Go ahead and rest."

Chan feels like a little toddler caught in the middle of his parents' spat. He's tries to remember when he switched from leader to liability.

 

**xiii.**

"What does it feel like?"

Chan looks away from the monitor, back at the younger. Felix is sitting on the couch behind him in the studio, looking a little frightened, like he knows he shouldn't overstep but he's too curious not to. "The bad, I mean."

They had come in, just the two of them, to rephrase one of Felix's newly recorded verses. And maybe it's the fact that it's just the two of them, the Aussie line (Hyunjin would disagree but details, details) that makes Felix venture into choppy seas, lip bitten and eyes darting. He holds his breath. Chan swivels the chair to face him, conflict in his eyes.

After a while, he speaks. "Like..I don't know. Empty. Or full, but of all the wrong things."

Felix leans back and stares at the records on the walls, pondering on Chan's words.

"I think I get that. Sometimes. When I miss home." Felix says carefully and thoughtfully.

Chan hums in agreement, wringing his hands as he slowly spins his chair. This is the first time any of the boys have asked him to casually express the turmoil inside if him. His body is ringing with uncertainty; he doesn't know how much he should say, how much he  _can_ say.

"That's kind of... what it feels like. But all the time. Except I don't really know what it is I miss so much. Or when I left it. It just... It hurts. Sometimes."  _All the time._

"Hurts?"

"In my chest. O-or heart? It feels.." and then Chan reaches up, gripping the left side of his chest. "It feels like there's..." He ponders for a moment, then switches to English, knowing Felix may not know the Korean word. "Like a black hole, where my heart is. Just, pulling everything in until there's nothing left to pull."

"Is it us?" Felix asks quietly. "Coming here, forming Stray Kids-"

"No." Chan's answer is quick, breathless, and he feels himself shutting down. No,  _no._  Not them.  _Him._  He said too much and now Felix thinks it's  _their_ fault. And now Felix feels bad. Because Chan talks too much. 

Always him.  _Only him._

Later on in the day, Changbin is sprawled out like a starfish on Felix's bed while Felix sits on the floor, back against the tossed sheets. Despite being idols, Changbin thinks that sometimes, their lives can be quite boring.

It's just practice, prepare, record, perform. Rest. Repeat.

Of course there's more to it than that; Changbin's  _dream_ is always  _more than that._ But today, Changbin's life feels boring. This is the rest part of the cycle. He raises an arm straight up to the ceiling, feels the weight of it shoot down his arm until his arm settles on the joint. It sways a little; Changbin focuses on balancing the limb.

He raps idly into the open air, over stylised words spitting with power; he listens as the words diffuse in the air and the silence settles.

Felix doesn't even lift his head. He's been quiet all evening, ignoring the older's restless attempt to evoke his playful side. Changbin crawls to the edge of the bed, propping himself on his elbows and peeking over Felix's shoulder at his phone.

"What have you been staring at for the past twenty minutes?"

"Black holes." Felix mumbles, eyes never wavering from the bottomless pits of exploding colour on his screen.

"Black holes? Why?" Changbin asks, fingers coming to comb through Felix's hair; he knows the younger secretly likes it.

The main dancer hums in contentment. "I was talking to hyung earlier. I asked him..what he feels. He said it feels like a black hole. In his chest."

"Oh?" Changbin pauses his ministrations, heart jumping as he pulls himself closer to peer at the images. "In his chest?"

Felix silently mourns the loss of Changbin's fingers on his scalp. "Yeah... I didn't really think about it but now...It's just- It's really crappy. Everything he's dealing with."

Changbin tries to ignore the buzzing at the back of his mind as he crawls back to rest against the bed head. "They're really pretty though. So is Chan-hyung."

Felix smiles. "That's one way to look at it."

Changbin stares at the ceiling as Felix crawls in next to him, body aching in protest from their work out yesterday. "Do you think he's getting better?" Felix asks quietly.

There's a pause as Changbin stares at the ceiling, thinking about his best friend, as Felix grunts and taps away at his phone. He wonders if Chan is getting any better. He's sleeping well now, the rapper reasons, and they're monitoring him well. But it still  _feels_  wrong, and maybe in the back of Changbin's mind, the  _buzzing,_  he knows they're doing it wrong. 

He knows Chan isn't getting better. He's just getting better at hiding that he's not.

But he ignores it, pushes it to the deepest corners of his skull and swallows. "What even are black holes anyway?"  

Felix hums and a moment passes. There's a soft "oh" from the younger, and Changbin turns his head to the sound. "What's up?"

"Black holes." Felix says softly, chucking his phone at the elder. Changbin reads the definition and the buzzing in his mind sends a shudder down his spine.

_Dying stars._


	5. #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know ANYTHING about Unveil i just saw the vid on twitter :') I also don't know anything about bungee jumping but does anyone on this site I :')  
> Anyways once again i'd just like to apologize for how cHOPPY this is :') I'm just writing :') and sharing  
> Okay love you much thanks for reading <3

**xiv.**

Jisung jerks awake, anxiety brewing in his stomach faster than he can blink as he jolts. He jolts up, breathing hard as he tries to figure out what his body is trying to tell him. It registers a second later.

Chan's gone.

He heaves forward, fingers fumbling in the sheets as he frantically searches for the older rapper in the darkness, as if maybe he's hidden himself among the folds, but he's not  _there-_

Jisung can't breathe as he tumbles onto the floor, wincing as he knocks his knee on the bed frame.

"S-S-Seungmin-" Jisung chokes as he staggers towards the door in the darkness.

"Ji..sung?"

"Chan's not here- Chan's not  _here_ -" he doesn't wait for a reply, skidding on the wooden floors as he hightails it into the hallway, head whipping around in terror.

Jisung can't breathe. His lungs feel like they're being squeezed, and all he can think about is Chan's scar ridden stomach and the way the older boy had been hurting and they way he had needed Jisung and Jisung wasn't there and Chan had opted to sleep under Jisung's watch tonight but the younger had fallen into a ridiculously deep sleep and why'd he have to fall asleep?  _Why_  did he  _fall asleep-_

His head is spinning and he leans against the wall.

_The kind of damage that someone in this kind of panicked state can do to themselves can be extreme._

Seungmin trips out of the room, hair mussed up and eyes fearful.

"What's wrong?" And even he sounds breathless, hands shaking as he grabs Jisung's shoulder.

Jisung can't even respond, just a choking sound as he tries to breathe.

_You cannot let him out of your sight._

"Jisung, where's-"

"Jisung?"

Seungmin and Jisung both whip their heads to end of the hall, where Chan is standing, a glass of water in hand and eyes full of sleep as they stare down at the duo.

A beat passes.

Jisung collapses first, knees thumping against the wood, and Seungmin follows soon after, palms breaking his fall. Chan stares at the younger boys as they shake helplessly in a heap on the floor before him.

Jisung focuses on the lines in the panels, trying to slow his breathing. Chan's okay. Chan's okay.

"I-I thought- Hyung, you weren't.." Jisung tries desperately to formulate his thoughts, but nothing comes out.

Seungmin can't find the strength to look up at the elder, voice shaking as his eyes remain downcast. "You weren't there, hyung. He..we thought..."

Chan's eyes soften, then mist over as he kneels.

"I didn't want to wake-"

"Hyung, Y-You- can't.." Jisung pauses, swallows the sob before continuing, "please always-  _a-alway_ s wake me."

Chan feels like a virus. Everyone around him is  _weak_ , because of  _him._  Everyone around him is in  _pain_  because of  _him._  Everything is going  _wrong._

Because of  _him._

When he calms the younger boys down, they reluctantly head back to the bedroom with the promise of Chan's return after he puts his glass away. As the water runs over the rim of the cup, Chan pushes his hand under the stream, then his wrist, feels the water rushing against his veins. He pushes further, up to his forearm, and watches as the stream smooths over the indents there. He imagines the water entering his body through the tiny incisions, filling his blood stream and sloshing around in his lungs. He wonders what it is like to drown.

He looks back at the hallway where the boys were before, and thinks it must feel a lot like this.

 

**xv.**

Chan feels like he's sleep walking. Constantly.

He knows the meds are meant to help him, but his brain feels like cotton and his muscles feel like jelly. Which would be fine if he wasn't an  _idol_ , but Chan's career requires him to be calm, compassionate and composed leader; brilliant, unique and stylized producer; unapologetic and poetic rapper and lyricist; sweet, smooth and honest vocal; charismatic and compelling dancer; smiley and gentlemanly dream boat.

Chan's career requires him to be on top of everything, all the time. These days, it feels like he can barely reach the second ledge.

After one too many side effects, he makes a decision and stops taking his meds.

At first, it was his own members.

"Sorry." Chan mumbles as he wipes the sweat from his brow, breathing laboured and knees shaking.

They're at a stage rehearsal for an upcoming live recording. This is the fourth time they've had to restart the choreography. It is the third time that it's been Chan's fault. Minho sends him a concerned glance and he tries to ignore it. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. No matter what he did, how hard he focused, how intensely he  _pushed_ , he's not fast enough, not sharp enough, not  _good enough._

Woojin hands him a bottle of water. "You need to rest, Channie?"

Chan fights the urge to scream. "I'm fine." he grits out.

He doesn't need to rest, he needs to get it  _right_. He knows the members mean well, but if one of them "check up" on him one more time, he thinks he might actually pass out. The world feels like it's moving in slow motion, Chan's heart beating lethargically for the amount of movement he  _thinks_  he's doing. He's stuck in a constant haze, unable to contribute in any way to the group he's  _supposed_  to be leading. He hates it. He  _hates_ it.

The fans are next.

It starts with a V live, an innocent comment about the lack of interaction Chan had been offering as he sat behind the others, staring off to the side. He puts on a smile and says something cheeky and consoling, but when he finally looks up at the camera, the viewers explode with concern. Stans on twitter take to analysing his blank eyes and expressions. #letchanrest and #restwellchan trends, which dig holes in his stomach because all he's been  _doing_  is goddamn resting, and it's only making things worse.

He keeps making things  _worse._

So he stops taking his meds, lets adrenaline fill him at all the right (and wrong) times. He gets clever, sinks his nails into his ankles now, because who was going to check under his Batman socks anyway? The marks on his hips begin to fade, and Jeongin and Hyunjin are still a little weird, but Seungmin sleeps better at night. It's good, he tells himself.  _It's good._

He doesn't sleep, not really, and perhaps maybe he's pulled himself right back to square one, but if he's being honest with himself, he didn't like the direction he had progressed in anyway.

So he doesn't sleep, not really, but it's okay. It doesn't scare him anymore. The moments of emptiness that overcome him at odd hours, that slow his heart and make his mouth run dry, are enough to make Chan feel like he's been resting eternally. Makes him  _wish_  he could rest eternally.

He stops seeing the therapist. A few excuses are made, and their schedule  _is_ beginning to pick up, so he isn't doing anything  _wrong,_  he thinks. He's just prioritizing the right things. He doesn't have time to sit in a tiny conference room twice a week with a woman who does the same thing his self harm can do. The same thing his writing does.

And he still writes well. If there's one thing that Chan can still do well, it's write. There's so much  _inside_  of him, scraping at the back of his throat, desperate to come out. If it had a form, Chan imagines it'd be a night dark, shapeless blob, settled around his lungs, his heart in its hand, shifting around in the night and bubbling over in random bursts. If it had a smell, it'd reek of metallic blood and smoke. If it had a face, it'd look like Chan. Because it's always  _him._  Only him.

 

* * *

 

 

He thinks, on the day that they go bungee jumping for Unveil, that maybe he's depressed.

The first time he jumps, it's ecstasy. He loses connection with everything secure and solid and  _safe_. As he soars through the air, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he  _feels_  it. Chan falls for so long he thinks maybe the bungee may have broken, thinks this  _really might be it._  But it doesn't upset him. There's an alarming flare of hope in the deepest parts of his gut, as the wind rips through his hair and the blood rushes to his head; for the first time in months, he feels free. Of all the anxieties and worries and deadlines and  _hurt._  Chan wasn't trying to die, but if today, this is the way Chan dies, it doesn't upset him.

Which, he realizes later, is  _so upsetting._

Jisung doesn't want to go, unwillingly admitting that his heart isn't up to throwing himself off a platform and plummeting for  _fun_. Changbin, who has come up on the platform for moral support, does his best to convince the younger, but to no avail. Chan almost chokes on his spit from the way he rushes to volunteer in the younger's place. He pushes himself onto the platform and the crew members yell in fright as they yank him back, reminding him that he needs to get harnessed first.

"Why do you wanna go so badly?" Jisung asks him, leaning against the railing and peeping down at the intimidating drop. "It's terrifying."

There's something completely enamoring to Chan about putting his entire life in the hands of one thick cord, but he can't tell Jisung that.

"It feels good." He says breathlessly as the crew member straps him up again. Changbin raises an eyebrow.

"To fall?" Jisung looks at him incredulously.

Chan's eyes are hollow as he answers. "To fly."

When it's over, and he's raised back to the platform, Minho and Woojin take in the illuminating smile on their leader's face from their place on the ground. Warmth bursts in their hearts as he laughs in elation, a boyish and squealing sound that they haven't heard in a while.

"Why didn't we do something like this sooner?" Felix asks, smiling in fondness. He thinks that maybe it'll be okay. Maybe Chan will really be  _okay._

Back on the platform, Chan keeps staring at the drop, breathlessly.

"It was really brave of you." The crew member says as he unstraps the young idol. "Jumping in place of your friend."

Chan slaps on a smile, but it hurts."That's nothing. I'd die for those boys if I had to."

He exhales slowly.  _He just might._

 

**xvi.**

 

Changbin's phone buzzes just as he's finally slipping into unconsciousness.

He almost screams.

Instead he groans quietly for Gyu's sake(and Jisung, who is passed out on Changbin's comforter on the ground, after a late night writing session), pulls the sheets over his head and mourns for his sleep silently. Whatever, he's not gonna check it. Working hours are  _over_ , it is 4am and it is time for the rapper to become the napper so good night-

Changbin's eyebrow twitches.

Okay.

So, it's 4am.

Working hours are over.

It's time for this rapper to become the napper.

Who's texting him then?

Limbs aching in protest, the rapper rolls over, hands slapping blindly at his bedside until his fingers curve around his cell. The screen comes to life with a single tap,  _far_  too bright for the otherwise dark room; Changbin squints at the notification.

**Chan: Bin its bad**

Changbin yawns. Chan has been working on the same song for a few days now. He likes writing alone. And he'd been getting better. Woojin had said he'd been sleeping better. So they had let him write alone. Things had been fine, had been looking up. He had been quiet, but the marks on his skin had faded.Whatever merciless monsters were living inside of his friend had seemingly disappeared, or gone to sleep. The boys had powered through a few performances, and although a little shaky, it had been good. It was  _good._

**Binnie: Hyung the song sounds fine pls come home and sleep. Ur getting worked up over literally nothing. come home**

Changbin sees that each of his messages are being seen as he sends them, knows Chan has his box open, which is a little odd because Chan's the type to message you first, and then probably throw his phone across the Atlantic within the two seconds it takes for you to reply, but whatever, it's 4am, what else could he be doing right now?

**Chan: no**

**Chan: I yh ur right.**

Okay? Changbin rolls his head back and closes his eyes tiredly. His phone buzzes again.

**Chan: But Changbin**

And alright, there's a little nagging in the back the younger's mind now because Chan never spells out his name for anything and Chan barely texts, much less at 4am and there's something,  _something_  that's waking Changbin up; maybe it's the way the little "typing" bubble keeps appearing and disappearing like Chan's hesitant; Chan's  _never_  hesitant with him. Might be the way Chan was so quick to just agree with whatever Changbin replied with; he can't even remember to be honest, he's so tired. It could be the goddamn  _buzzing._  The screen lights up.

**Chan: Im**

**Chan: Im gonna kill myself Changbin. I want to die.**

There's a pause.

Monsters are still monsters, even if they're sleeping.

Changbin reads the message a second time, feels the air change around him, feels his blood run a little cold because-

 _It feels good._  
_To fall?_  
_To fly._

Changbin's hand is trembling a little and he can't stop reading the tiny grey bubble because-

 _He said it feels like a black hole. In his chest_.

The younger doesn't even realize he's not breathing, blinking once, twice-

_I'm gonna kill myself Changbin._

And shit, shit,  _shit-_

_I want to die._

Changbin shoots upright, holding the phone to his ear before he even presses the dial button. His heart is pounding and he's  _very_ awake now.

After the fourth ring, there's a click and then silence.

"Hyung?" Changbin breathes out anxiously, one hand subconsciously gripping his tousled hair.

The silence that follows stretches too long for the younger's liking, and he's about to utter a more desperate "Hyung", when Chan's own greeting swallows his.

"Hey Binnie."

And Chan sounds so small and soft and defeated and broken, and it's all Changbin needs before he's chucking his pillow at Jisung's head and stumbling out of his sheets.

The other rapper groans and curls into himself, and Changbin doesn't show any sympathy, kicking Jisung in the shin as he tries to pinpoint his jacket in the darkness.

"Hyung, where are you?"

Changbin's heart is hammering as Jisung yelps a drowsy, "Hyung,  _what_."

Ignoring the younger, Changbin presses the phone even harder against his ear, trying desperately to hear something,  _anything_. It's quiet on Chan's end, save for his soft breathing.

"Chan, where  _are you?"_ And Changbin doesn't hear the panic in his voice until Jisung's tripping over his ankles and darting to his best friend's side, eyes wide and worried, hands tensed.

Chan breathes out, shuddering and slow and  _quiet._ "Binnie, I'm so tired."

Changbin can barely mouth,  _Chan_ as he turns his attention back to the barely there voice on the phone, the phone that's crushed so desperately to his ear, the stud in his lobe is actually piercing the side of his head. "Hyung, please-"

"I-I've just been thinking like...shit-" There's shuffling on the line; Changbin can hear something rattling around in a bottle. His chest clenches. Something like pills.

"Hyung," Changbin's voice actually  _breaks_ with desperation, eyes stinging, "you gotta tell me where you are. I gotta- Hyung, I'll come find you, okay? T-Tell me-"

Jisung's constant tapping on Changbin's shoulder is so  _irritating_ , and his vision blurs a little as he puts the phone on speaker, both boys staring intently at the glowing screen. Chan's shaky, slow drawl crackles through.

"-I shouldn't have messaged b-but I'm..Binnie I-I don't know what else to do." Chan's voice rises to a choked sob, and he sounds so breathless, like it's exhausting to even speak.

Jisung catches on quickly, slapping a hand to his mouth as he swallows the burn in his throat.

"It hurts." The distraught elder sniffles, inhales, and there's more shuffling. "Shit Binnie. I-It hurts. So bad. I didn't..." Chan curses, laughs humorlessly through the phone speaker before a small sob crawls out of his throat. "I-I didn't think it could hurt like this."

Changbin can't breathe. Changbin actually  _can't breathe._  The younger man has a calculating brain, one that can run through numbers faster than his mouth can spew them; one that can analyze and determine answers in minutes. Right now, it's doing just that, speeding through the breathlessness in Chan's voice, the soft drawl of his words, the coherence of the elder, what could  _possibly_  be hurting him.

His throat closes up. Bleeding out hurts.

"What hurts? Hyung, I-I-"

It sounds like Chan is getting up, and Changbin and Jisung are hit with a whole other level of panic because if Chan's getting up, it means he's  _going somewhere_ , means he's  _acting_ , instead of staying put.

"D-Don't panic okay? I-I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm o-okay, I'm-" Chan breaks off into a sob, pushing the lie through his teeth. "I-I can't keep  _lying_  like this. I don't know what to do." He whispers brokenly and Changbin's ears are ringing.

"Hyung, a-are you at the studio?" Jisung's voice is a hoarse whisper. "W-We're coming."

Chan hasn't stopped crying, probably didn't even realize Jisung had joined the conversation, and the younger boy feels hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

Suddenly, there's loud air crashing through the receiver. The younger rappers can barely hear Chan anymore."Okay, p-please come." and then the line cuts.

Changbin's mouth runs dry, and Jisung jolts forward in panic.

_"Hyung?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF welp there you go :') hope everyone is resting well much love and stan skz if you don't already! xx


	6. #6

**xvii.**

Changbin's barreling through the door faster than his feet can carry him, resulting in an awkward fumble for balance as he darts through the halls, switching on lights in his way. He squints through the blinking lights, not even giving his eyes time to adjust before he's running again. Changbin's vision starts to blur a bit as his mind bolts through scenarios, each one soaked in anxiety. Chan swallowing a handful of pills, Chan hanging in the supply closet, Chan  _gone_.

The colour drains from Changbin's face and he feels his knees weaken at the thought, so much so that he has to pause, gasping. Chan could be dead. He could  _lose_  Chan.

"Hey, w-we'll find him. Okay?" Changbin looks up to see Jisung a little way ahead, panting and waiting for him.

"Woojin hyung and the others- We'll find him." But even as he speaks, Jisung's voice cracks with emotion. Chan had sounded so  _unstable_  on the phone. From years of friendship with the older, Jisung knows that once Chan has a goal, he  _will_  achieve it. Even if that goal is negative.

Even if it kills him.

After Chan's panicked call had been cut short, Jisung and Changbin had sprung into action, fumbling through the dorm bedrooms and alerting the others of the situation. Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin remained at the dorms, clutching each other with red rimmed eyes; Woojin had the duty of filling in their managers; Minho, Hyunjin, Changbin and Jisung had taken to the company buildings in a chaotic search party of panicked exploration through the near empty halls. Chan had seemingly turned off his phone and Jisung keeps swearing that he's going to beat his ass as soon as they find him, but Changbin's quiet because they don't even  _know_  if they're going to find him.

_How_  they're going to find him.

"Hyung? Hyung!" If the way the boys were racing through the building wasn't an indication of their desperation, the strained tone in their voices was a clear give away. He's not in the studio and he's not in the practice room and where  _is_ he? Something's wrong, something's wrong; he should  _be_  here, he said he was  _here_  and now he's not _._  Haunting things are flashing through Changbin's mind, all the terrible things Chan could be thinking, could be doing,  _could have done_. They could lose Chan,  _he could lose Chan._

Jisung ducks down another hall and Changbin stills. He tries to remember anything Chan could've said, or anything he'd heard that could indicate where Chan might be. The crashing in the receiver registers as wind in Changbin's mind and his heart sinks.

_Shit._

Changbin darts towards the stairwell as Jisung emerges dejectedly before calling after him. Changbin thinks he might've answered Jisung, but he really can't think about anything else other than  _Chan, Chan-_

_"_ Chan?"

After what seemed like hours of running, Changbin pushes open the roof door in a frenzy, breathing hard as he tries to focus his vision on everything in the area at once. The wind slams into him so strongly, he's forced to close his eyes before slowly squinting open again.

And there he is.

When Changbin sees him, it's like a tsunami of consolation crashing against him, hurling him forward with such a force he actually  _gasps_ , gripping the door handle to steady himself.

" _Hyung_." the way Changbin breathes out the elder's name is so  _embarrassing_ , so full of frantic relief that if Chan was himself, he'd thoroughly make fun of the younger.

But Chan's not himself.

"Hyung?

The white haired elder is slumped against the wall of the edge of the roof, balled into himself and eyes shut. His hair whips around his pale face, and his chest heaves. Chan's thin black tee swallows up his tiny, shivering frame, and he's  _not wearing a coat holy-_

"Hyung what the- Hyung." Changbin's trying desperately to get Chan to look at him, acknowledge him, but all he does is loll from side to side, and it's making the younger panic again. He approaches Chan cautiously, feet seemingly stuck to the ground, but only when he's kneeling right in front of Chan does the older find strength to pick his head up, chapped lips opening and closing again.

"Binnie." and Chan opens his eyes, red and wet.

Changbin blinks, once, twice. "You're okay?" he whispers.

His hands are shaking as he reaches out, cupping Chan's face. Changbin keeps repeating himself, but Chan can barely hear it falling from the younger's trembling lips. He tilts the elder's head up, eyes scanning his throat, and his arms, and eyes are on Chan's wrists, trailing his veins, and-

Chan's fingers are stained. With blood.

For a second, Changbin's world goes black.

"H-Hyung, you're- y-you didn't, hyung, p-please-" and he's grabbing at the elder's hands and Chan's not  _saying_  anything but his hands are stained with blood and Changbin's lungs are closing in-

"Bin..Binnie s-stop-" Chan breathes weakly, tugging his arms away, but Changbin's yanking him back and Chan makes a strained wheezing when Changbin's hands brush against his abdomen and Changbin's vision is swimming. Desperately, the younger rapper restrains Chan's wrists with one hand and hikes his shirt up with the other.

In the harsh roof lighting, Chan's skin appears glassy, inky crimson dotted lines clawed from hip to hip. They're not perfect lines, nothing calculated and even about them; they're all angry and passionate, dug in and bleeding from some segments, dark red in others. Changbin knows logically that they aren't that deep or different to anything he's seen on Chan's body before, but they're long and  _red_  and _fresh_ and he releases Chan's wrists to grip at the stained shirt. He wrings the fabric, staring at the raw scratches, angry and  _hurt_   and relieved and-

"I-I didn't, Binnie. I didn't." Chan's voice is so  _scratchy_  and  _small_ and-

Chan shivers, the wind whipping against his bare skin. He reaches up shakily and covers Changbin's hands with his own blood stained ones and pulls down his shirt. Changbin watches him, heart stuttering painfully. 

"It's..you- your coat." he utters uselessly, before blinking stupidly, then yanks off his jacket and wraps it over the elder.

A moment passes, the wind vicious.

Changbin stares at his own hands, gripping the jacket's front, and then he blinks up at Chan, who's staring right back, expression unreadable. The elder thinks maybe this is where Changbin will yell at him, where the boys will come bursting through the door, where Changbin will take care of it, because Changbin can take care of it.

Instead, Changbin's face crumples, the rest of him following soon after.

"Y-You're okay, hyung? You're-" Changbin's actually sobbing, gripping Chan in an attempt to squeeze something out of him, maybe an answer, maybe a confirmation that it'll be okay, that he's okay, that he's alive, that he's not going anywhere.

Jisung finally comes barreling through the door. When he sees the older, he fumbles for his phone, hands shaking so badly he has to dial Woojin's number twice before getting it right.

Chan can't seem to say a word, and Changbin isn't any better. He's still seeing images of Chan hanging and Chan being scraped off a sidewalk-

"I didn't, Binnie." Chan croaks softly, curling even further into himself, but then Jisung's kneeling in front of him, and Changbin's waiting for him to beat the elder's ass like he had promised earlier, but then Chan's being encased in the youngest's arms. He can almost feel the racing pulse of Jisung's heart as the wind howls around them. Jisung is trembling violently, holding Chan as tightly as he can, as if he can prevent Chan from ever going anywhere every again.

"Y-You're okay?" the only reason Chan hears Jisung's broken whisper is because the younger is pressed against his shoulder.

Chan tries to pull away, to apologize or  _something_ to Jisung, but Jisung yanks him back.

"J-Just- Here. I-Is fine." he mumbles quietly, and Chan can feel Jisung's tears on his neck.

Chan's throat burns. The door swings open and Hyunjin and Minho climb over each other, eyes fixated on the elder. Hyunjin starts to cry, set off by the "thank  _god_ " that leaves him in a heavy breath. Minho can't move, hands trembling and chest tight.

"Y-You got him?" Minho calls, skin pale and voice shaking.

Changbin fixes the coat around Chan's shoulders with cold fingers. "We got him." 

Behind the wall of the roof's edge, the sun rises.

 

**xviii**.

The heat of the Sydney sun filters through the guest house windows. Chan scoots back against the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest until he's out of the light's path on the sheets. It's nice, he tells himself. 

_"If you were to visualize your feelings in the form of a building, what would it look like?"_

_"Um, what?" Chan clears his throat, flattening his palm against the arm of the couch._

_The therapist blinks at him, urging him on._

_Chan thinks for a long minute. "Burning."_

_"Burning." The therapist repeats._

_"It's..flames everywhere. And I'm on the top floor and... it's closing in and the smoke is so thick, and I-I don't want to jump out the window, I don't." Chan doesn't know when he got so emotional, when just talking about metaphorical buildings could cause his eyes to sting. "But if it's dying by choice or being burned alive.."_

In his lap, his lyric notebook lays open to a filled page, pen resting idly on the lines. He re-underlines the harshly written"Plan C" at the top of the page. It's not a song, but it's the only notebook he brought with him. He'd begun writing on the plane, a list of habits, practices, reminders, anything he can think of that'll make it right this time. He wants to do it right this time.

They call it the episode.

It's a little dramatic to Chan, since he didn't even  _do_  anything, just blubbered like a baby and freaked everyone out, but his therapist is convinced he needs the attention and the break. The manager had been livid, not at Chan for having "the episode", but at the fact that the episode had actually happened. That Chan had been hurting right under the company's nose; that the company had known, but they hadn't  _known._

"Are you actually surprised?" the therapist had asked, hands folded neatly in her lap.

The manager had looked at her in disbelief, fuming. "And y-you didn't think to  _say_  something?"

She had met his gaze with fire and challenge. "Would you have stopped obsessing over their success to listen to me?"

And that shut him up.

So they take a break. It's not an ideal break, only six weeks of minimal to no activity; but it's theirs. Chan can't remember what they told the fans really; knows it was a stretch of the truth, but the STAYs are so patient and supportive, so he doesn't let the guilt consume him for too long. 

_The therapist hums again. "You called your friend." You didn't want to kill yourself._

_"Well I- he called me." There's a part of me that wanted to die._

_"But you answered." There's a part of you that wants to live._

_Chan opens his mouth, then closes it again._

_"I did."_

There are more doctors' visits than Chan would've hoped.

He gets checked and weighed and scolded and examined and probed and pinched and questioned. Through it all, Chan is... okay. Not great, not horrible, just okay.

It's a little strange, the way a cloud of surrealism has seemingly settled over him. He feels guilty and he feels dull. He feels sorry, but he feels a little safer too. He feels dirty, but he feels honest.

If there's one thing Chan feels, it's honest.

The episode had been the leaking pipe, and now he was a rushing river of only truth. He doesn't really lie anymore, didn't hesitate to roll his socks down and show the damage he'd done when they asked him, doesn't push his food around his plate anymore to make it look like he's eating. Because although Chan thinks this is all a little dramatic, he knows how he felt that night. 

The thoughts had been swarming him for weeks. He saw fatality in everything he did, couldn't focus on anything but the hollowed space in his heart and the noise in his head. He had been stretching himself thin, and it showed in his almost translucent skin and red rimmed eyes. He had been in the studio, taking a break from writing. He had opened twitter, the private account he used to scope out what fans were  _really_  talking about. And they had been talking about _him._

**CHAN'S LEFT KNEE** _**@banditchan** _  
_Um?? Why are no stays worried about chan?? Are my moots blind or am i_

**ALEX LOVES MINHO** **_@alexforskz_ **  
_Replying to @ banditchan_  
_This about the fancam right :') hun we're all out here tryna figure out what tf-_

**CHAN'S LEFT KNEE** _**@banditchan** _  
_Replying to @ alexforskz_  
_So ya'll DO know huh. Somebody call up JYP fr this is foolery_

♡  **a wild narii appeared** ♡ ** _@skznarii_**  
_Replying to @ banditchan and  @ alexforskz_  
_?? Tea or..? Somebody fill me in pls_

**ALEX LOVES MINHO** **_@alexforskz_ **  
_Replying to @ skznarii_  
_skskdkllsnfl chan focus at the live show a few days ago? here's the link~_

So he clicked the link, which had led to a blurry video of a live show they'd done a few days back. He sees himself jerking back and forth to the horrible audio blasting through his phone speakers. He feels his stomach twist as screen Chan struggles to keep up. He dances like he's trying to cartwheel through quick sand, that is, he's trying to fight a battle he can't win. The camera zooms in and Chan can make out the way his stage self is panting, pushing air through his teeth like an asthmatic grandfather. His eyes are clearly unfocused, lost in the lights and screams. He looks..bad. Not even he, the king of denial lately, can deny it.

**Seungmin is the only valid rapper** _**@skzsoldier** _  
_Hyunjin and Seungmin look really tired too :( what is going on??_

**Hero's Soup Enthusiast #267** _**@ lilinnie** _  
_Ugh ya'll always wanna make a big deal out of nothing. They're idols ofc they're tired. They had one off show, give them a rest. Geez LouEEZE._

**Woojin + Ayisha ♡** _**@ ishabish** _  
_Replying to @ lilinnie  
_ _Um noah fence but are you blind? They don't look tired, they look dEad. Something goin on fr. This isn't the first time they've looked like this. Somebody pull up the award show when Chan almost passed out, ya'll kNOW the oNE-_

**Changlix pinned // JJ ♡'s Nini** **@hanniemanny**  
_guys please censor your tweets. Ch*n already looks stressed af, if he sees we're freaking out over this it'll only make it worse..._

He scrolled through the endless speculations, heart hammering with each one. The tweets took a more sour turn, if possible, as he stumbled across a small but noticeable group of hate, commenting about the falling quality of their performances. 

_"Unpopular opinion, but skz really isn't skz anymore for me."_

_"Did his voice just break? kdanfanjfn yikes what a mESs"_

" _They're just not gOOD anymore. I'll always love Binnie but.. there are so many other groups that deserve the stan more than this one rn"_

_"ROTY?? I hAD to laugh."_

Stray Kids was getting hate because of his fancam. Stray Kids was getting hate because of  _him._

He knows how low he'd been for the past two months. He knows the way his hands shook when the panic set in. He knows the way his brain had blurred into tunnel vision, pointing down a dark stretch of only one option. He knows the thoughts he had. He knows what he had almost made up his mind to do.

He makes up his mind to never feel that way again.

Of course, it's not that easy.

After one of the first few doctor's exams after the episode, Chan sits on the examination table, feet dangling off the edge like a child. He has a hand under his shirt, fingers subtly tracing the angry, red tracks on his hips; Hyunjin, who had pulled the patient's chair up against the table's side, keeping him company until the assistant nurse comes back, is trying to subtly ignore it. That constant company is another thing Chan has become desensitized to. Before the episode, it had felt overbearing and suffocating; now, Chan doesn't complain about it all, doesn't trust himself all that much anymore. The boys aren't overly censored anymore either; before, they would dance around the issue with forced smiles and hushed tones, but now they don't smile if they can't. Right now, only two days after the episode, they can't.

Instead of the assistant nurse, Jeongin pops his head in; Hyunjin avoids his gaze. "Nurse said..good to go." he says softly. Chan folds his lips and nods, reaching for his socks on the edge of the table. He miscalculates and accidentally knocks the bundled pair off the table, sending it rolling. Both Hyunjin and Jeongin reach for it, hands darting out the same time. Hyunjin freezes first, and Jeongin slowly picks up the socks, head cocking to the side nervously.

"Um, here." he says even more quietly. Hyunjin only stares, leaning back in his seat, but Chan sees it. He watches as Jeongin extends his arm right past Hyunjin's eye line to hand the leader his socks, sees how Hyunjin remains transfixed by the milky skin of Jeongin's wrist, following the limb as Jeongin retracts his arm and shuffles out the door. When he's disappeared, Hyunjin lingers on the space he occupied and his eyes flicker to Chan's own hand, hidden under his shirt, before looking away; the tension in his jaw tightens.

Chan stares at the empty doorway. "He's not me, Jinnie." 

Hyunjin snaps out of his thoughts, eyes puzzled. "What?"

"He's not.." Chan looks at Hyunjin's fingers as he wrings them. "Like me. He's okay. We're.. okay, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin's jaw locks in place. When the younger doesn't reply, Chan pushes further. "You can't keep him at a distance like this."

"I'm not." The younger dancer says quietly, but his eyes look a little glassy. "Let's not talk about that."

"Why are you so mad at him? He was just... Look, I-I don't know the details; Woojin wouldn't really divulge-"

"Right, you don't know the details. So we should just.."

"But he's one of your best friends-"

"Well obviously not!" And there's something fiery and dark brewing in the younger boy's gaze as he snaps up. "Because  _I_  thought that best friends  _came_ to each other when things were shit, no matter what a-and  _trusted_  each other when they needed- needed  _help_ but...b-but..he..you.."  
The crack in his voice comes so abruptly, and the younger lowers his head in shame, hair shading his eyes. 

He pulls his hands into his lap, and he looks tiny, and ten years older at the same time. "Why didn't you just..come..to us..?"

_Oh._

And then there's a tear falling and a sniffle and Chan's heart feels decimated, pummeled into a million and two pieces. 

"Hyunjin.."

"Why'd you do that hyung?" And his voice is so unnaturally small, and Chan can hear the strain in his voice, like he's pushing his words through the holes of a colander, forcing out the thoughts while trying to hold back all the emotion. "Because we've been through so much shit, hyung. And I-I'd turn the world on its side and back if you asked me to but..you didn't.. you didn't trust..

"Hyunjin, of course I trust you." 

The darker haired teen shakes his head before offering an empty smile. "But we're  _here_ , hyung."  _Because you didn't trust us._

Chan didn't know how much more of this emotional turmoil he could've handled, but now he doesn't know how much more his members can handle either, hadn't seen it so explicitly like this. He hadn't even thought of it that way. He'd been so concerned with not bothering his members, he didn't even think of how offensive and hurtful it might feel. The guilt slinks into his lungs, thick and dark and making it hard to breathe, and Chan struggles to replace the anxiety with motivation. It has to get better. He needs to get  _better_. He swallows his urge to cry and hesitantly picks a white speck out of the younger's hair. The simple action causes Hyunjin to look up, catch Chan's affectionate and apologetic smile.

"But  _w_ e're  _here_ , Hyunjinnie." The older murmurs, and Hyunjin nods softly, catching his tears with his thumb.  _Because I did._

They go to Australia after the eighth day; through much discussion, too many therapy sessions, and a surprising and gentle suggestion from JYP himself, they take Chan home. They decide to all go, renting a highly recommended and heavily secure guest house, and passing it all off as a fun little escapade that will produce some kind of special content for STAY.

They needed a reset.  _He_  needed a reset.

Of course they tell his parents, but he makes them promise to spare his siblings. They greet him with desperate hugs and hair petting and quiet tears and  _love._   He cries. So much. But he's... okay. Not great, not horrible, just.. okay. He thinks, nevertheless, that it's a better place to be than where he was heading.

He runs a finger over the list of things he'd scribbled, and his finger pauses on #17.

_Get more Vitamin D!_

So he straightens his legs out into the pathway of the light and soaks in the sun. Baby steps, he thinks. Baby steps.

 

**xix.**

For the last four days, Chan wakes up to white sheets and body heat, and Seungmin's nose pressed against his jaw, and Jeongin clutching his hand to his chest, and Changbin's foot in his face. Sometimes, he wakes up to his own tears, and Minho threading through his hair, and Woojin tracing soft shapes at the base of his spine. Most times, Chan wakes up to company, to a constant reminder that he  _has_  someone. All the time, Chan wakes up to  _home._

One morning, Chan wakes up to a soft nudging on his shoulder. He blinks into reality, into the darkness of the morning. His eyes focus on the digital clock on the wall; it's about 6am. 

"Get up, hyung." Felix's voice is all baritone and laced with sleep, but his eyes are bright, so Chan gets up, lets Felix chuck him a dark grey hoodie as they creep past the sleeping members and slip out into the cool air.

They walk in silence for a little while, masks preventing them from engaging in any small talk that would've otherwise been forced. It's not uncomfortable though; Felix's fingers are laced loosely with the elder as he leads him down scarcely trafficked streets. When they arrive at the pier, Felix leads him right up to the railing of the boardwalk. 

"Here." he murmurs. "Look."

The ocean breeze is cool, ripping off the lapping waves like a sheet. Some birds are walking along the wooden floors near them, one squawking every now and then. A speedboat engine revs to life and speeds off, leaving a funnel shaped tail in the water, and taking it's noise with it. Felix digs his foot into the groove between the railing and the ground; light has begun to leak into the sky as the sun rises.

"It's pretty, right?" Felix asks him, and Chan turns, sees the way the muted light bounces off Felix's cheeks and dampens the brightness of his newly dyed hair. "My dad used to bring me out here every once in a while, when I couldn't sleep, or just..when I needed it."

"You think I needed it?" Chan asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Felix answers honestly, because he's always so  _honest_. "Nah, I think I did." 

"Oh." Is all Chan can breathe.  

Felix seems to realize how that might have come across a second later, whipping towards Chan with wide eyes. "Please don't feel bad. I know this is... hard. For you." Felix searches the elder's gaze. "But it's hard for us too, y'know?" 

Chan exhales, tries to settle the tidal wave of mixed emotion rising in his throat. "That's...fair."

After a second, Felix darts his gaze to the ground, cheeks colouring.

"Close your eyes."

Chan's startled, but after catching the younger's intense gaze, he flutters his eyes closed. He hears shuffling, feels Felix's hands on his, and he panics a little, but Felix doesn't yank his sleeves down or anything of the sort. He sections off Chan's index finger, and then the older boy feels something thin and adhesive being wrapped around the tip of his left index, then his middle, then his right index, then his middle.

After a moment, Felix returns Chan's hands to the railing. "You can open now."

Chan looks down at his fingers. Spider Man stares back.

Felix has wrapped super hero themed band aids around both his middle and index fingers, carefully over the top, and then around the pads. He looks up at the younger Australian in confusion, and sees his ears redden slightly as he turns to the opened box of cartoon themed plasters in his grip.

"I thought if..if it was cool looking, you'd be okay to wear it more." He mumbles, biting into his cheek.

"Wear it..?"

"For when you..." Felix clears his throat, then reaches out hesitantly and presses his fingers into Chan's forearm, gently enough to barely hurt but heavy enough to get his point across.

Chan's eyes widen, and he never knew fond and shame could bloom in the same space, but his chest is bursting with more emotions than he can process.

"For when you feel bad." Felix finishes lamely, relaxing his grip and smoothing the pale skin in gentle circles.

"Oh." Felix has given Chan super hero themed band aids to cushion his self destructive tendencies.

Felix has given Chan mini heroes to save him when he can't save himself.

The older boy blinks back the wetness in his eyes, turning back to the sea and experimentally drumming his fingers against the railing. "That's..that's really cute, Lix. What the hell?" he breathes out a chuckle, eyes searching the waves, the dock, the soft blue in the sky; anything but the blushing dancer. 

"It's not  _cute_ , it's just... I thought maybe... it'd be... a good-"

"It is." And when Chan turns to Felix, there's a pretty colour dusting his usually pale skin. "Thank..you."

Felix smiles widely before turning back to the foam ridges lapping against the pier. "You're welcome, hyung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello <3 I'm so so sorry about being so absent and leaving everyone hanging. I know I owe you all an explanation (and more than this one lame filler chapter but here I am :')) These last few weeks have been a little hard for me and I really wish I could pinpoint something and say "hey, this is what's going on", but honestly I've just been exceptionally low, coupled with a lot of responsibility and things to be done that are super hard to do when I feel like this, and I really hate bothering my friends and family with this since I've done that for so many years now. So I've kind of gotten into the habit of sort of shutting down.
> 
> Another thing that I've been struggling with is writing a good end for this story. I would love to write a beautiful recovery for Chan because he really deserves it and I love him so much, but it's a little difficult to write well about something I'm not 100% sure exists :') I am working on it, I promise. I know this chapter isn't all that great and it's kind of disconnected but maybe writing about Chan improving will help me too, and maybe those of you that may be struggling too? I don't know :') I hate when I'm like this. I'm sorry if it annoyed anyone :')
> 
> But I'm okay!! I love you guys so much?? You're honestly the sweetest?? I could cry?? I'll try to respond to each of you maybe tomorrow; your comments make me so so so happy <3 Please don't worry about me :)) I will work hard to write a worthy ending for our Channie <333 I hope everyone is okay and resting well. Drink lots of water and take time for yourself! Don't ice people out that just love and want to help you. Offer love only :3 Eat well and work hard. Thank you so much for reading! I'll see you guys soon with another chapter! xx


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